Blackout
by o Mischief Managed
Summary: AU. Sequel to Eagle Eye. Annabeth has accepted crime-ring Olympus as her family, but now only one thing stands in their way—Kronos and her CIA past. Taking Hades' words to heart—"It's us or them this time"—she and Percy prepare for one final stand against the agency. But Ground Zero of a blast is the most dangerous place to be, and they could lose everything before the war is done.
1. Prologue

**HEEEEEEEY THERE!**

 **Well, I know it's been QUITE some time since we finished Eagle Eye, but as some of you may know, I've spent the last few months working on another story so my focus on this was next to zero. But I worked really hard over the past week and a half to get this story completely outlined and each chapter summarized and planned, and now guess what - WE'RE FINALLY READY TO GO!**

 **And let me tell you, I'm SO EXCITED. It's gonna be awesome, guys, seriously. Can't wait to share it with you all.**

 **Okay, let's see, pre-story notes... Well, this is of course a TOTAL AU. Same characters, completely different setting.**

 **Second, you ABSOLUTELY MUST READ FIRE AT WILL *AND* EAGLE EYE BEFORE READING THIS. I swear. Even this first chapter will make ZERO sense to anyone who hasn't read the first two books. So go read them. Now.**

 **Third, this is the END of my Bloodlust Trilogy! WOO! Sad, but I swear I'm gonna try to make it a fitting end. It'll make you laugh, cry, smile, frown, scream, pound your fists on the table, and everything in between. Guaranteed or your money back! (Your _time_ however isn't something I can return, regrettably.)**

 **Fourth, the lyrics you'll see all prettily stretched out at the beginning of each chapter are from Fall Out Boy's "The Phoenix". Excellent song. Listen to it. Seriously.**

 **Lastly, who even needs disclaimers anymore? It's obvious none of us fanfic authors own a single thing worth owning.**

 ***Ahem***

 **Without further ado for now, SHORT PROLOGUE IS A GO! You all remember where we left off last book? Well...**

* * *

Put on your **war** _paint_

* * *

Ordinarily, interrogating criminals was something Duke Atlas would admit he heartily enjoyed.

It was simple justification. To the Deputy Director of the Central Intelligence Agency, being able to place himself in a position of superiority over lowlife lawbreakers and draw from them information he could use for, primarily, his own personal benefit was something of a treat—the most piquant and satisfying of accomplishments, better than almost any other experience with which Atlas was particularly familiar. For just that time—minutes, hours, days, however long it took—he was the law. He had the power. And he could press it in whatever way he saw fit.

Yes, ordinarily, interrogation was Atlas's strongest suit. His favorite pastime. His ultimate skill. But ordinarily, he triumphed with minimal effort. Ordinarily, he got exactly what he wanted in five days or, oftentimes, less. Ordinarily, he didn't have to resort to measures bearing anywhere close to extreme.

To Atlas's intense frustration, he was learning that people involved with the powerful criminal organization Olympus were anything but ordinary.

For almost two months Atlas had been expending his efforts in a relatively fruitless attempt to coerce an Olympus sympathizer he'd detained in Chicago into releasing information regarding the inner operations of the organization and the whereabouts of its elusive leaders. He was positive that the sympathizer—a twenty-three-year-old auto mechanic with a criminal record and a snarky attitude—had the information he was looking for. But there was a chasm of consequential difference between what he wanted and what he'd so far gotten. Though he was loath to admit it to outside parties, the irritating futility of his sessions with the kid reminded him of the few short days in which Olympus's codename Artemis had been in his custody. That woman had been decidedly less annoying personality-wise, but her font of surrendered information was equally as dry and empty.

Though it may have been a stretch, Atlas chose to place some of the blame on his unstable situation. _Maybe if we were able to stay in one place for more than a few days,_ he'd tell himself, _I'd have time to get something done_. But thanks to a certain former agent whose name Atlas refused to recite lest he be overcome by resentful anger, he and his small strike team were more or less on the run. It was either slow down and risk losing his captive to a probably-ill-conceived-and-likely-explosive rescue attempt or keep moving in hopes of getting information that would help him before it was too late. So Atlas made the choice to stick with the latter.

Though how much longer that would remain an option was something on which he couldn't spend educated speculation.

Atlas was busy pondering just that one evening after another useless venture for intel with his least favorite prisoner when an agent named Biggs arrived at his motel room with a rather worrisome bit of information that somehow caught him completely by surprise.

"Director Kronos is here to see you, sir."

Atlas's face remained an emotionless mask as his heart skipped a beat in alarm. "Here?" he repeated with a frown. "As in, here at this motel?"

"Yes, sir," Biggs responded, looking much more nervous than Atlas felt. "In room two-oh-one."

Atlas was perplexed. What purpose could CIA Director Victor Kronos have for visiting Atlas's temporary base of operations in a sparse motel in Laughlin, Nevada? It couldn't have possibly been good news. Kronos typically delivered good news over the phone, whereas bad news he sometimes preferred to extol in person.

"Thank you, Agent," Atlas told Biggs gruffly. "You're dismissed." The agent gave a curt nod and hurried out of sight as Atlas strode across the room and let himself out, wondering what sort of meeting the Director had in mind for him. Did he forget to file a recent report? Or neglect to update the equipment log? Or was this about his misfire in Chicago in January, when he'd allowed Ezekiel Grace to be killed by his own former star agent? Whatever the reason, it was sure to only add to the Deputy Director's currently growing list of grievances.

When Atlas reached room 201 he nodded to the two guards flanking the door, knocked curtly, and gave his name, receiving a muffled "Enter" from beyond the wooden barrier in response. He opened the door and stepped inside, shoulders back and spine straight. He was always sure to appear as impressive and competent as possible in his boss's presence.

Victor Kronos was seated alone inside a room identical to Atlas's, his back to the door as he shifted through a few lined papers on the desk in the corner. "Take a seat, Agent Atlas," the Director said in his smooth, oily voice.

Atlas closed the door and remained standing.

After a few seconds of tense silence, Kronos piled the papers and rose from his chair, turning to face Atlas with a beleaguered sigh. He was shorter than the Deputy Director by about three inches and boasted noticeably less bulk, but the man's even posture and lithe movements portrayed just as easily as muscle could that he was a powerful force to be reckoned with. Like Atlas, Kronos had once been a field agent with an impressive—to say the least—track record who'd fought his way to the top with an even mixture of hard work and natural talent. He had a reputation throughout all divisions of the agency as the sort of person who was wholly intolerant of failure and superfluous action—every move had to have a constructive purpose. If one were to displease him even in the slightest, their career would be history. Atlas had been Kronos's second-in-command for almost a decade, and in that time he'd learned that the legend and the man weren't so different.

"Evening, Agent," the Director greeted Atlas without the slightest flicker of emotion on his face, his smooth, pale complexion giving him the eerie appearance of a wax figure. He leaned back against the corner of his desk and folded his hands patiently. "I trust I find you well."

"Of course, sir," Atlas responded, his deep, gruff voice a harsh contrast to his boss's in the silent motel room. "To what do I owe this… unexpected visit?"

"I'm on my way to New York after yesterday's conference in Sacramento and wanted to check in with you for a status update," Kronos explained with calm indifference.

"Do you mean our search for Olympus's remaining leaders, or my interrogation of the organization sympathizer we apprehended in January?"

"Both," Kronos responded.

Atlas hesitated. "Neither has been as successful as hoped, but I'm confident that we'll be making headway soon." An evasive answer, to be sure. Atlas hoped it was enough to satiate the Director's curiosity.

It wasn't. Kronos lifted his chin a quarter of an inch—barely noticeable, yet perfectly clear. "I hear we lost another agent during your time in Houston," he said. "It seems to me like Annabeth Chase is becoming more of a problem than anticipated."

"Not a problem we can't handle, sir," Atlas assured his superior.

"I'm wondering," Kronos went on as if Atlas hadn't spoken, "why some of my best agents are wasting their time on one stubborn criminal when there are much bigger fish following their tail waves. Have you lost sight of the bigger picture, Agent Atlas?"

"Of course not, sir." Atlas shook his head, clasping his hands behind his back and ensuring that his expression remained passive. "The big picture is Olympus as a whole. I'm certain Valdez has information that could prove instrumental in—"

"What reason do you have to believe he knows anything of consequence?" Kronos challenged, his icy blue eyes hardening. "How sure are you that this isn't simply a wild goose chase?"

Atlas swallowed, gritting his teeth. "We uncovered information in Houston that leads me to strongly believe we're on the right track with this kid. He has a connection to the organization that he seems very keen on hiding. When I get it out of him, this will all pay off. Trust me, sir."

Kronos remained still and quiet for a long few seconds, cold eyes studying Atlas's face and stature. "You say he's a dealer?"

"Unlicensed arms," Atlas confirmed. One of the few useful facts he _had_ been able to wrest from the kid. "I'm sure his relationship with Olympus has something to do with that business, but I haven't gotten the complete extent yet."

"Very well," Kronos decided with a short nod. "If he was innocent, I'd say we'd be forced to let him go, but seeing as he _is_ involved… You have two more weeks with him, but no more. If after that time you still haven't gotten him to talk, I want you to eliminate him and move on. Put all of your energy into tracking down Chase and her traveling circus. I won't lose any more good agents to that loathsome turncoat. Or that ungrateful fool who corrupted her."

Atlas felt a stab of personal guilt and frustration—two months ago he'd come _so close_ to capturing Annabeth Chase, his best assassin, and Percy Jackson, the target who'd ripped her from the agency's grasp, only to watch them escape his clutches. It was his biggest failure to date, and the reason he was so intent on bringing the entire organization of Olympus to its knees in order to make things right. Kronos hadn't forgotten the incident any more than he had, and now the Director was giving him one final chance. It was a blessing Atlas wasn't going to waste.

"Understood, sir," Atlas promised, making a silent vow to himself at the same time. Whatever it took, he would make Valdez talk. He would squash Chase and Jackson like the roaches they were. And together, he and Kronos would triumph over Olympus once and for all. "I won't let you down again."

* * *

 **ALRIGHTY THEN!**

 **No clue when the next chapter will be up, but if things continue to run slow at work it'll be sooner than you think. Shouldn't be too bad of a wait, I expect.**

 **So give me a follow, give me a review, give me an H, an E, an L, another L, and a YEAH! Bloodlust Book 3: Blackout is officially under way!**

 **Hehe, can you tell I'm excited? Later days!**

 **-oMM**


	2. Chase

**Now don't get used to this. I'm warning you, not all updates will be this fast. But there was an abnormally long wait between books so I might as well make up for it at least a little bit, right?**

 **That being said, ready to get into the real deal? Thanks to those of you who reviewed yesterday! And welcome to everyone who favorited/followed! Glad to have you all along for the ride! There won't be any more Atlas chapters, I promise. That was just the prologue. The rest will be people we know and love :D**

 **Such as...**

* * *

You are a **brick** tied to me that's _dragging_ _me_ down / Strike a _match_ and I'll **burn** you to the ground

* * *

"Annabeth, come in. What's your position?"

Annabeth Chase squinted her eyes against the glaring evening sunlight as she turned her gaze northwest for the briefest of seconds. "Cross street Corsi Avenue, about a hundred meters out," she told the radio in her ear between rapid, even breaths. "Just a few minutes until we reach the area."

"Roger that," Reyna's voice responded. "We'll be ready."

Annabeth didn't respond—she was too busy leaping over the cascading wares of the street vendor's cart which the man she was pursuing had just knocked over in an attempt to throw her off his trail. Grinding her teeth, she dodged around the cursing vendor and the onlookers who'd stopped to inspect the commotion and locked her eyes on her target, weaving through the foot traffic at the highest speed she could manage.

Ahead of her, she saw her quarry look over his shoulder as he fled, surely checking to see if she was still on his trail. When he saw her, he suddenly turned toward the nearest alley and Annabeth clicked her tongue anxiously. Ignoring the obvious risk to her operation, she pulled her .45 from its holster beneath her dusted denim jacket and fired just ahead and to the right. The suppressor attached to the end of the barrel did a good job of masking the sound of gunfire, and as the bullet swept in front of the man ahead of her and struck the sun-hardened clay of the nearest building he skidded sideways and changed his mind about the alley, instead continuing to hurry down the sparsely-occupied street.

Annabeth followed after him with a short breath of relief. She couldn't have him running down the wrong side street. That would ruin their well-laid plan.

Annabeth kept her gun in hand, though she was sure to conceal it as best she could from anyone she happened to dart past in her chase. The last thing she needed was someone calling the cops on her. She had a job to do, after all.

The man tried again at the very next alley he came to, but this time Annabeth let him take it and followed him with a satisfied smirk. So far, so good. When she turned the corner herself, she fired two bullets over his head for good measure, just to let him know she was still there and hot on his trail. He ducked the too-high shots instinctively and swerved around a dumpster, yanking the freestanding trash can beside it over so it rolled across the alley, spilling its contents over the ground. Annabeth darted around the moving obstacle as the man suddenly produced an automatic out of nowhere and aimed it wildly over his shoulder. She skidded to a slower run and threw herself behind the dumpster to avoid the bullets headed her way, cringing at the loud sound of unsuppressed gunfire. By the time she ducked out from behind the dumpster, the man was already climbing the ladder of the fire escape snaking the length of the brick building to their left.

Heart skipping a beat in anticipation, Annabeth hurried after him. She stowed her gun back in her jacket and grabbed the metal ladder with both hands, pulling herself onto it and climbing as quickly as she could. When she reached the top, she had to dodge more gunfire as her target raced up the rickety stairs. Reflexes on high alert, she took the steps two at a time and craned her neck to see the man leap through an open window a few stories above her.

"Fourth floor," she panted into her radio, quickly counting the windows lining the side of the building. "Sixth from the front."

"Got it," came Reyna's reply.

When Annabeth reached the same window she vaulted through it and reclaimed her weapon, scanning the empty and rather decrepit apartment room to see if her quarry was hiding somewhere within it. She heard rapid footsteps receding down the hallway and cocked her gun, setting off at a run. The second she entered the hallway she heard suppressed gunfire to her left and looked to see the man she'd been chasing duck and stumble before hurling himself against the door nearest him and breaking it open. He disappeared inside the apartment beyond in search of sanctuary.

Not that he'd find it. "Hold it!" Annabeth heard Reyna's voice shout—this time not from her radio, but from the room to which her target had escaped. She rushed down the hall and came to a staggering halt in the doorway he'd busted through to see him stepping backward into the middle of a room equally as worn-down as the one they'd recently exited, handgun outstretched toward the bedroom doorway in which Reyna Ramírez-Arellano was standing resolutely with a glare on her face and an MP5 in both gloved hands.

The man's eyes darted toward the window, outside which another fire escape trailed the northern side of the building, but before he could make a move toward it someone appeared on the other side, sliding up the dusty and streaked glass to sit casually on the window sill.

"Ah, ah, ah," Piper McLean chided with a sweet smile, twirling a machine pistol in her fingers. "End of the line."

"I told you, Agent Simmons," Annabeth said from the doorway. The man whipped toward her and aimed his gun, but the barrel of Annabeth's .45 was already pointed at his face. "All we need is a little information. Just calm down and tell us—where's Atlas going?"

Agent Simmons scowled. He kept his gun aimed at Annabeth, though his eyes darted back and forth between all three women. "So you're the ones who've been following Atlas's team, picking 'em off one by one."

Behind him, Piper rolled her eyes. "Only 'cause they made things difficult."

"Look," Simmons went on flatly, "I don't know who you chicks are, but you're freakin' insane if you think any one of us is gonna squeal to the likes of you."

"Oh, you're gonna squeal, alright," Reyna said coldly. She tightened her grip on her rifle and lifted the barrel a fraction of an inch. "Or scream. Whichever comes first."

Annabeth didn't react visibly, though inside she mentally pleaded with Reyna to take it easy. She knew the martial artist was getting more and more desperate and anxious with each link in the chain they were following on their cross-country chase of the CIA's Deputy Director and his strike team, and though she sympathized she didn't want any rash actions to get them in serious trouble. She had to trust that Reyna realized that their need for information was too great to risk on vengeful action.

Over six weeks had passed since the three of them had set off after Duke Atlas and his personal escort. They'd first received word in early February that Atlas was on the move, with an important hostage—whom Annabeth and the others assumed had to be Leo Valdez, Reyna's boyfriend and the freelance arms dealer with a vendetta against Ezekiel Grace who'd been instrumental in their attack against the crime lord two months ago—in custody. After that, it had taken a bit of careful persuasion for Annabeth to convince her fiancé, the new central division head of criminal organization Olympus, to agree to any sort of rescue mission. In the end, they'd decided that a small team would have the safest chance of moving swiftly after Atlas and potentially catching him off guard. Annabeth herself was the most familiar with the Deputy Director, thanks to her own experience on the force, and Reyna was, unsurprisingly, the next immediate volunteer. Piper had joined on soon after to complete the squad.

Things were slow at first, but once they were able to pick up Atlas's trail, they did everything in their power to ensure that they didn't lose it. They came very close to catching him in Houston, Texas six days ago, only to lose him at the last second. Now here they were in Sedona, Arizona, staring down an agent they'd been following who they knew for a fact had recently been in contact with Atlas's team.

Annabeth huffed in mild annoyance and blew a dark brown corkscrew of hair from her line of vision. She'd dyed her blonde hair a few days into their expedition in an attempt to help conceal her identity, given that the entire CIA probably had her description memorized given her status as a wanted defector, and still to this day she didn't like the change. It had been Piper's idea. A good one, Annabeth had to admit, and not without merit—after all, the agent right in front of her still couldn't tell who she was. But still, it felt wrong somehow.

"We're not asking for much," Annabeth reasoned with Agent Simmons. "We know you met with someone from Atlas's team. All we want to know is where they're headed next. Give us a city, that's all."

The agent looked visibly unnerved at his situation, but to his credit he held his ground. "They'll catch you before you get anything out of me."

Annabeth ground her teeth in frustration. Why couldn't this ever just be easy?

"I hate to say it, guys," Piper chimed in as she leaned out the window and looked down toward the ground, "but he might be right. We got incoming." She looked back to Annabeth. "Police squad checking the area. And I'm betting they're gonna wonder what we're doing in a closed-down apartment building. I mean, we don't exactly look like squatters."

"Looks like time's up," Reyna noted, finger poised on the trigger of her rifle.

Annabeth furrowed her brow. After a series of quick thoughts and an exchange of significant glances with Reyna, she fired a bullet just over the man's shoulder, causing him to flinch in surprise and break his aim. Reyna rushed immediately toward him and used her left leg to force his outstretched arms downward, and as he fired his gun into the moth-eaten carpet she rammed an elbow against the back of his neck. He dropped to his knees, fingers going lax and weapon leaving his hands, and Reyna kicked him onto his back.

"Sorry," Annabeth said as she knelt beside him, "but I'm gonna need to use your phone."

She saw his eyes widen as she quickly inspected his pockets for the device, but he made no move to protest seeing as the barrel of Reyna's rifle was touching his sternum. She found it in the inside of his jacket and switched it on to see three new text messages, all from unsaved numbers. She pulled up his conversation history and quickly scanned all of his recent messages.

"Time to book it, ladies," Piper warned them, climbing to her feet just outside the window. "They're in the building."

Annabeth looked up. Already she could hear movement below her and voices calling muffled orders. To Agent Simmons, she said with a short sigh, "You got lucky. Thanks for the help." She gave him a sarcastic smile as she jumped to her feet, but the second Reyna moved her gun the agent made a grab for Annabeth and pulled her legs out from under her. As she fell, she heard rapid gunfire and for a moment her heart stopped in fear. But by the time her shoulder hit the ground and she rolled to safety, she realized that the shots hadn't been aimed at her at all.

"Not so lucky after all," Reyna mused as she rested her rifle against her shoulder, staring down at the unmoving body of the agent. She helped Annabeth back to her feet before the two of them rushed after Piper without looking back.

"Did you get anything?" Piper asked Annabeth once they'd descended the fire escape and exited the north alley, carefully evading the policemen near the building entrance on the main road and blending into the growing crowd of curious pedestrians.

"Good thing for us he wasn't diligent enough to delete his messages," Annabeth replied with a light smirk. Despite the Arizona spring heat, she tightened her jacket around herself to conceal the shape of her gun beneath it. "There's a rendezvous between Atlas and another team in Las Vegas on Friday night, at the Temple Grande Casino."

"Awesome, I've always wanted to go to Vegas," Piper replied. "Sounds like fun." She removed her gloves and stuffed them in the pocket of her jeans. "Another score for the Ballistic Brunettes."

Reyna rolled her eyes as Annabeth groaned and muttered, "I told you we are _not_ calling ourselves that."

"Oh, come _on_ ," Piper complained dramatically. "We've been kicking ass and taking names all across the country! This is like, the stuff of legends. We _need_ a name so they can tell stories about us. Duh."

"This is supposed to be a _secret_ operation," Reyna pointed out. "We don't exactly _want_ people telling stories about it."

"Speak for yourself," Piper replied with a grin.

Annabeth aimed a finger at her. "I thought you were tired of fame."

"Well, yeah, when I was only famous 'cause of my dad. But being famous 'cause of me—that's entirely different."

Annabeth gave an amused chuckle and shook her head. "One thing at a time, superstar."

They fell into a companionable yet somehow tense silence as they made their way at a fast walk down the twilit Sedona street. Despite the fact that they were now free of danger, the adrenaline in Annabeth's veins had yet to cease its furious flow, and she had to keep flexing her fingers to give her tingling muscles something to do. It was difficult for her to remain still when she had a clear goal; she'd been that way for as long as she could remember. In school, as a CIA assassin, even during her year off in London—and _especially_ after, when she'd set her crosshairs on the late codename Zeus. She'd hoped that after ridding herself of Ezekiel Grace, she would get a chance to relax a bit. But when Atlas had ruined that operation and captured a friend of hers, that hope had been swept down the drain. And now here she was, back on the job.

Not that she regretted it too much, of course. She was just as determined as anyone to catch Atlas and get Leo back, and after that to join Olympus in their standoff against the agency she used to belong to. She supposed that, more than anything, she was just missing home. She hadn't seen her fiancé in over six weeks, after all.

"Annabeth?" Piper interrupted from beside her, and she glanced up to see the younger woman frowning at her. "You okay? You look kind of spacey all of a sudden."

"Yeah," Annabeth replied, shaking herself out of her thoughts. "I was just thinking that… Well, you're right about one thing."

Piper arched an eyebrow inquisitively.

Annabeth smiled. "Vegas does sound like fun."

* * *

 **So that's what Annabeth's been up to. We'll catch up with Percy next chapter, then it's a kind of steady back-and-forth for a while.**

 **Drop me a review if you feel so inclined, and I'll see you all again soon! Maybe not tomorrow, but soon ;D**

 **Later days!**

 **-oMM**


	3. Risk

**Hi gang! Happy Thursday! This is a little later than I'd anticipated, but I was delayed due to monster eye infection earlier this week. All better now, though, and this thing's ready to go!**

 **Thanks to those of you who reviewed last week! Wanna see how our other star player is doing? Then come on down...**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

We are the jack-o-lanterns in **July** / Setting **fire** to the _sky_  
Here comes this _rising_ tide

* * *

The loud twang of amped guitar chords cut aggressively through the heavy silence that hung suspended in the still air of the small, temporary office room, and Percy Jackson sat up so fast he nearly tipped his chair over backwards in alarm.

It took him several long seconds to gather his bearings. Had he actually just let himself doze off? _Seriously?_ He didn't exactly have time to be sleeping. There were _way_ too many more important issues that needed his attention than his own exhaustion.

The guitar riff halted abruptly and started over again, drawing Percy's attention to where his cell had lit up on the desk in front of him with an incoming call. Rubbing his tired eyes with an irritated grimace, he snagged his phone and read the name on the screen, sparing a brief glance to its corner to check the time. 7:42 PM. He breathed a weak groan and tapped the screen to answer the call.

"Harrison," he said into it, stopping to clear his throat when his voice came out scratchy. Exactly how long had he been out?

"Is this a bad time?" Harrison Stoll asked from the line's other end.

"No, it's fine," Percy insisted, blinking hard and shaking his head. "Tell me you found a buyer."

"I did, but I'm not sure you're gonna like it."

Percy furrowed his brow. "Try me."

He heard Harrison sigh before answering, "It's Medusa."

Percy bit his tongue to keep from cursing aloud. He'd avoided doing any sort of business with the small, all-female organization Medusa since January, when some of their members had stolen a stock of explosive ballistics mid-transport from Hank Beckendorf's team of specialists. He'd been part of a contingency sent to intercept Medusa when they'd tried to sell the rounds to another group—a disastrous operation that had resulted in the death of a long-time friend of his. In his opinion, Medusa was a dangerous gang, too volatile to place too much trust in.

But on the other hand, he _had_ to sell this equipment, and the longer he dawdled the more risky his situation would become. His uncle Ezekiel Grace, former codename Zeus and his predecessor as Olympus's central division head, had left him with a rather troubling share of problems. Before his death, Zeke had begun laying plans for a civil war among the organization. He'd been gathering his closest followers and stocking up on specialized weapons, building an arsenal—an arsenal that Percy unknowingly inherited when he took on his uncle's role. And if he didn't want to be seen as a threat to some of the more cautious factions of the organization—well, more than he undoubtedly was already thanks to the controversial manner of his takeover—he had to get rid of Zeke's stock. Fast.

Which left him with a decision to make—deal with Medusa, with whom Olympus had always had a bit of a rocky relationship, or hold onto Zeke's arsenal and risk driving a wedge of suspicion between himself and his subordinates.

"So what do you think?" Harrison asked when he received no immediate reply. "I can decline if you want, but it could be a while until we get another buyer lined up."

Percy shut his eyes and pressed the palm of his free hand against his forehead, applying force to the constant headache that hadn't receded in weeks. Harrison had a point, this could very well provide the last chance they'd have for some time. And the simplest truth, boiled down to the barest of facts, was that placing trust in Medusa was less dangerous than risking the trust of Olympus's members.

"Alright, take them up," he told Harrison heavily. "But I'm sending Paul and Tammy to make the exchange. This has to go well and it has to send the right message."

"Right," was Harrison's dutiful reply. "I'll make sure Danielle's in the loop."

"Good. Thanks, Harrison."

The man was quiet for a few seconds and Percy was about to end the call when his voice said carefully, "…Try not to worry so much, Percy. You've got a handle on this. Just relax."

Percy could picture Harrison's stormy blue eyes ringed by wrinkled smile lines, watching him with barely-shielded concern beneath angled gray eyebrows. It was almost enough to relieve some of the pressure weighing heavily on his shoulders, but his mind was far too preoccupied to focus on the reassurance for long. "Easy for you to say," he grumbled wryly.

Harrison breathed out quickly and Percy imagined him bearing a sad smile. "Maybe." Then a low, double beep sounded signaling that the call had been disconnected.

Percy lowered his phone and groaned wearily, dropping his head to the desk with a dull _thud_. He supposed that was one crisis averted, though it hadn't been resolved in quite the way he would've hoped. Actually, not a lot of things had gone quite the way he'd hoped since he'd accepted Zeke's job two months ago at the behest of his father and remaining uncle. He hadn't thought it possible for Zeke to screw him over any more after the man's untimely defeat, but somehow he'd been wrong. Even from the grave, Ezekiel _freaking_ Grace found a way to make his nephew's life hell.

It was true that no one, discounting his friends at the CIA of course, was after Percy's life anymore (at least, not that he knew of), but that certainly didn't mean things had gotten any easier. Apparently, in the past few months during which Zeke had spent the majority of his resources on equal parts war preparations and hunting Percy down to eliminate a threat that hadn't really existed beforehand, the crime lord had managed to neglect the central division's relations with the continent's other organizations—many of which were crucial to the general upkeep of Olympus's status and business. Now Percy was busy working overtime to repair what Zeke had broken, while simultaneously attempting to prove to his new subordinates that he wasn't some power-hungry usurper. And then—as if that wasn't enough—there was their ongoing and increasingly-critical rivalry with the CIA to worry about as well.

Percy hadn't realized exactly how serious of a problem that rivalry was until two months ago, when Duke Atlas himself had clashed with him and a few others at the Willis Tower there in Chicago. It was like a declaration of war—the opening battle before a series of assaults that would undoubtedly invite nothing but open bloodshed. Neither Olympus nor the CIA had struck further just yet, but the campaign had begun nonetheless. It was only a matter of time before the next conflict. And somehow, as cliché as it was, he couldn't shake the unnerving feeling that something terrible was about to happen.

He knew it was selfish, but he couldn't help hoping that if something bad was headed their way, it had nothing to do with his fiancée, Annabeth. It was a long shot, of course, considering the extremely dangerous mission she'd undertaken six weeks ago. But try as he might, Percy couldn't imagine a way he could pull things together if something were to happen to her. He hadn't wanted her leaving at first, setting off after Atlas to retrieve the friend he'd captured during their encounter at the Tower. He'd tried to convince her otherwise. But he knew better than anyone how difficult it was to win an argument with the headstrong former assassin, so in the end he'd been forced to back off. Logically, she of course had been in the right—her CIA background gave her a clear advantage when compared to any prospective substitute. But that didn't exactly make him feel any better about it.

A curt knock on the office door once again startled Percy out of his stupor, and he ground his teeth in annoyance when he realized he'd started to drift off again. Was his lack of restful sleep really starting to affect him so much?

 _Man, I wish I could take a day off…_ he thought ruefully. _Heck, I'd take a few hours. Anything to keep me from falling unconscious in the middle of the day._

"It's open," he called to the door in response to the knock, again squeezing his dry eyes shut and massaging his sore forehead. He heard the door open and a strange mechanical squeak accompanied the few short footsteps that neared.

"Hello, Percy."

Percy's eyes snapped open and fixed on the two men in the doorway. His gaze passed over the younger one without interest and rested on the older, who was seated comfortably in a worn motorized wheelchair with his hands folded in his lap. His warm brown eyes, squinted from years of smiling, peered across the room as the corners of his lips turned up, barely visible beneath his scraggy brown-and-gray beard. It was a face that Percy hadn't seen in quite a long time—but a face he couldn't ever forget.

"Professor Brunner," he said in surprise, immediately springing to his feet as his eyes widened. "What… What are you doing here?"

"Please," Brunner said off-handedly, waving an arm. "How long have we known each other? Call me Charles."

Percy felt himself smile, though he didn't amend his statement. He'd met Charles Brunner on his first day of classes at John Jay almost seven years ago. The man had taught him every year until graduation, even given him extra lessons outside office hours to make sure his lack of academic aptitude and dyslexic disorder hadn't resulted in his failing half his classes. He'd been something of a mentor to Percy for years, even before he'd later discovered the teacher's secret position as the head of espionage organization Centaur, a long-time ally of Olympus's. No matter how many times Brunner made that request, he would always be Professor in Percy's eyes.

"I got your message regarding your organizational changes," Brunner explained, wheeling himself farther into the room. "I rather thought congratulations were in order."

"You didn't have to come all the way to Chicago just for that," Percy pointed out, stepping around the desk. "I'd have been fine with a phone call."

"Well, it's been a while since our last visit," Brunner went on with a small smile and a dim twinkle in his eyes. "I was curious to see how you've changed. And, admittedly…" His smile fell noticeably as he lowered his chin and added, "I did have another reason. A more… delicate matter, one I thought it best to discuss in person."

Percy frowned, chest tightening with a twinge of anxiety as Brunner exchanged a nod with his companion and the man silently left the room, closing the door tight behind him.

"Before we get to that, however," Brunner began, smile returning as he shifted to look at Percy. With perfect poise, he placed his feet on the floor and stood from his chair, rising to his full height of six-foot-three, before stepping forward and reaching out to clasp Percy's hand, pulling him into a comfortable embrace.

Percy knew the wheelchair was nothing but a farce to throw off Brunner's potential enemies and thus was unsurprised by the motion, but the man's earlier words had thrown him off and he still found it difficult to return the friendly greeting with equal enthusiasm. If Brunner noticed, however, he made no comment.

"How have you been?" the professor asked as he released his former student and observed him critically. "You look well, if a bit on the exhausted side."

Percy grinned weakly. "You can tell?"

Brunner responded with a knowing smile, eyebrows drawing together. "I heard from your father what happened with Zeke. I was appalled, to say the least, that he would attempt assassination of his own nephew—and to start a war among family, no less? Not to speak ill of the dead, but I believe you will make a much more fitting leader than the one he had become before the end."

Percy shook his head, leaning back against the corner of the desk with a heavy sigh that pulled at his aching shoulder muscles. "I want to believe you, but… Well, it hasn't exactly been a walk in the park so far."

Brunner folded his arms. "You're having difficulties?"

"I'm going crazy here," Percy admitted, waving his arms in a defeated sort of gesture. "Zeke left me a friggin' mess to clean up. I have to undo all his 'civil war' crap before someone calls me out on it, convince his fan club that I'm not the next Genghis Kahn, personally explain to basically our entire underground network what's been going down, _and_ , in all my spare time, try to come up with a way to deal with our damn CIA problem." He shut his eyes again and lowered his head, resting it against his hands as the tension in his muscles seemed to constrict his throat and make it difficult to breathe. "I swear, Professor, if one more thing goes wrong, I'm gonna lose it."

Brunner was quiet for a couple of long seconds, and when he spoke again his voice was tight with restraint. "I'm sorry, Percy, but… in that case, my news isn't going to be something you'll want to hear."

Slowly Percy lifted his head, unable to keep the anxious, beleaguered expression from his face. "What?" he asked, a little afraid of the answer.

"You say you've been having trouble earning the trust of Zeke's most loyal subordinates," Brunner went on with a dark frown, "but it seems the situation is worse than you realize. The other day I was approached by a nameless individual from United—someone who, I assume, was close to your uncle when he was in power. He asked me and my organization to support the claim of United's CFO, Jason Sharpe, who they profess to be Zeke's personally appointed heir and the rightful owner of the position of Olympus's central division head."

Percy stared at Brunner, feeling like the professor had just punched him in the gut. He'd known Zeke's closest followers still didn't completely trust him, but to hear that someone was gathering them in a possible attempt to overthrow him… Brunner was right, this news was most definitely _not_ something he wanted to hear.

"So there's…" he muttered, his mouth suddenly uncomfortably dry, "gonna be an uprising."

"Not yet," Brunner said thoughtfully. "I'm sure they plan to wait until they have enough external support to form a stand against you. You do have the majority of Olympus's leaders on your side already, which, I'm sure, is intimidating. They also were kind—or foolish—enough to inform me that Sharpe has enough on his plate at the moment, seeing as he was appointed acting CEO of the company upon Zeke's death. I do not think you're in any immediate danger, but I still thought it prudent to see that you were properly warned."

"What did you tell them?" Percy wondered, wringing his hands in an attempt to quell some of the nervous adrenaline that had begun to tingle beneath his skin.

"I told them I would consider the offer," Brunner responded. "I don't plan on accepting, of course—my loyalty to you and your father would never allow it. But I'm afraid there will be little I can do if they gather the support necessary to pose a threat. Still, remember that you will always have my help, in whatever way you may need it."

Percy wanted to smile, but the problems stacked up against him seemed to finally reach the exact weight required to render that particular facial expression impossible. Instead he dropped his arms with a sigh and said heavily, "Thanks, Professor. That means a lot. Really."

"Friendship is no trouble, Percy," Brunner replied with a warm smile. As he lowered himself back into his wheelchair, he added, "I'm sorry I can't stay and catch up, but I have business to attend to while I'm here in Chicago. If you ever need me, please don't hesitate to call."

"I won't," Percy promised, striding across the room to open the door for his former teacher. He waved goodbye and managed a weak half-smile that he assumed must have looked more like a grimace, before Brunner was gone and he shut the door once again on a thick, suffocating silence.

"Aw, man…" he mumbled to the empty air, leaning his arms and forehead against the closed office door. It had been nice to see his college mentor again, but that didn't change the fact that he now felt worse after the brief meeting than he had before. He sincerely hoped Annabeth was having more luck on her venture than he was—though, admittedly, the opposite was extremely unlikely. He wasn't sure his situation could actually get any worse.

 _Whoa, let's not think that,_ he scolded himself, shaking his head. _That's like inviting the freakin' universe to screw with—_

Again his cell ringtone suddenly broke into his train of thought, making him jump and spin around toward the desk behind him. Praying to whatever god liked torturing him that this wouldn't be more bad news, he crossed the room and picked up his phone with fingers shaking with agitation.

"Jackson," he said into it, not bothering to glance at the name on the screen as he answered the call.

"We got a problem, Perce," the voice of Grover Underwood, Percy's best friend since junior high, answered tensely.

Percy felt like hurling his phone across the office. "When _don't_ we?" he shot back with more force than was technically called for. And maybe if he was under just a _little_ less stress, he'd feel bad. As it was, though, he didn't. Was it his fault Grover didn't understand that this really wasn't the time?

"…It's your dad."

The leaden tone of Grover's voice wiped every trace of scorn from Percy's tongue. His heart seemed to slam against his ribcage for a few painful beats as he asked tentatively, "What about my dad?"

"His meeting with the Lester brothers, it…" Grover explained, obvious trepidation in his jumpy inflection, "it was intercepted by the CIA. Kronos was there."

" _What?_ " Percy stammered. The CIA director himself had made a move already?

"Things went so wrong, man, there was nothing anyone could do." Grover paused to take a slow, unsteady breath. His voice softened as he admitted, "Your dad's hurt, Percy. It's bad."

Percy swallowed hard, which was a difficult task given the obstruction of the anxious lump that had formed in his throat. "How bad?"

"…You should come back to New York," was Grover's only answer. "Soon."

 _No way…_ Percy thought inwardly, heart dropping into his stomach. He finally allowed himself to temporarily forget the looming collection of problems and threats he had hanging menacingly over his shoulder as his senses all focused on one—if Grover's grim tone was any indication, Parker Grace's life was in real, serious danger. His father was one of the only direct family members Percy had left, one of the people he cared about before all else, the people he'd sworn to protect. What the hell was he doing 700 miles away, worrying about his own situation?

Feeling an angry glare contort his already-exhausted facial features, Percy told Grover gravely, "I'm on my way."

* * *

 **Not extensively edited since I was impatient at the end and wanted to get this up, but I _think_ errors are minimal. Feel free to point any out to me if you see 'em so I can fix 'em.**

 **Anyway, yikes, huh? Oh trust me, I've got some major drama planned for this story. It's gonna be heart-wrenchingly epic, I swear, haha. You'll all love/hate me for it.**

 **Review on your way out? Thanks, everybody! See you soon, and later days!**

 **-oMM**


	4. Fantasy

**Hi there! Happy Friday! Thanks as always to everybody who reviewed last week. Enjoy this slightly longer update!**

* * *

So **come on** / Put on your **war** _paint_

* * *

It was dark. It was quiet. And Annabeth couldn't move.

Where was she? What was going on? She was sprawled on her back on a cold, wooden surface—of that much she was relatively aware. But everything around her was thick, black shadow, stifling like smoke and still and silent as the grave. She felt no restraints binding her, no force pressing down on her. But still the tendons in her muscles were so tight with soreness that no amount of willpower seemed sufficient to force her limbs into motion. It was like she'd been running at top speed for hours and had finally collapsed, unable to go on.

A powerful anxiety began to take root inside her. She tried to yell in frustration, but her voice came out distant and muffled, as though she were trapped underwater. The air around her seemed to stir and slowly she became aware of a low rumbling, intoned like a far-off voice calling out to her. It was jumbled and distorted and she couldn't make it out, but for some reason a sudden and inexplicable fear struck her. The voice—if that was what it was—hadn't come to bear good news.

As if in response, a bright light flashed and all at once her surroundings were flooded with illumination. She squeezed her eyes shut to shield them, her vision momentarily masked by a sheen of red as her retinas protested the assault. The voice grew louder and clearer, cadences separating into disjointed words until a sentence finally broke through:

"It's over, Chase."

The smooth, cold voice washed over Annabeth like an oil spill and her eyes shot open despite the still-blinding light contrast. Standing over her was a man, tall and lean with gel-slicked white hair and eyes as blue and chilling as the Arctic Ocean. His arms were folded over his pristine black suit jacket as he stared downward with an expression of cool disappointment, like a father about to abandon a discordant child.

Annabeth felt her spine go rigid with dread. She recognized those eyes, that posture, that frown. But she wasn't ready to face him yet. Not now, not like this.

"Look at you," CIA Director Victor Kronos said evenly, his voice low and his upper lip curling just barely in disgust. "Look at the life you've chosen. Or should I say…" His mouth twisted in a sneer. "…The death."

With difficulty Annabeth lifted her head and gave a choking gasp when she saw the blood. It was everywhere—soaking her clothes, pooling on the floor around her. She couldn't see a wound and she felt no pain aside from muscle strain, but her eyes weren't lying. Something was seriously—mortally—wrong.

"Let her go!" a familiar voice growled harshly. Annabeth shifted her gaze and felt an unsettling mixture of relief and dismay. To her right, her fiancé was charging toward her, his expression a fierce glare and his eyes fixed with hatred on Kronos. He seemed different from when Annabeth had last seen him—his black hair longer and unkempt, his face gaunt and pale. The energy in his movements was forced, like a façade hiding age-old weariness. She felt a painful stab of distress—they _weren't ready_ for this fight. How was it happening so suddenly?

But powerless and immobile as she was, there was nothing she could do about it. She lied still as Percy jumped over her and threw himself at Kronos, screaming inside because her mouth refused to form words. Her fiancé shoved her former boss backward with savage force, placing what felt like a world of distance between them both and Annabeth. Kronos's face contorted in a snarl as he took a swing at Percy, striking him across the jaw and causing him to stumble. As Percy lunged for Kronos, Annabeth tore her attention from the fight, instead focusing all of her strength on her own body in a last-ditch effort to make it move.

 _Come on,_ she pleaded with her muscles. _Come on!_

But all she got was a twitch of a finger. Her body was dying, and she couldn't stop it.

Suddenly the loud _BANG_ of a gunshot made her forget all about her struggle for mobility. She glanced back to her left and felt a gasp constrict her throat—Kronos and Percy were standing two feet apart, the former holding a handgun against the latter's stomach.

Percy took a shaky step backward and lowered his gaze to the blossom of red on the front of his white shirt while Kronos's lips spread in a satisfied smirk. The CIA director gave a low chuckle and time slowed to a crawl as his finger tightened on the trigger of his gun, inviting four more successive blasts. Each bullet that pierced Percy's torso forced him back a step, until finally he dropped to his knees, shock on his face and a thin trickle of blood dripping from his lips.

"No…" Annabeth managed to whisper, her voice a hoarse scratch against her tongue. Stinging tears pricked at her eyes, making the corners of her vision turn yellow.

Kronos took three slow, deliberate steps and lowered himself to one knee, grabbing the neck of Percy's shirt in his fist and yanking him forward. Percy's left hand jerked by his side like he wanted to lift it in defense, but—much like Annabeth—he didn't seem able to execute the motion.

With a cruel laugh, Kronos turned to smile at Annabeth, his icy eyes twinkling like sharp knives. "Olympus is ours," he said triumphantly.

Then he jammed the barrel of his gun into Percy's mouth and fired, and the gunshot was drowned under Annabeth's scream.

"Are you okay?"

For a long moment she couldn't fully register the question. Why in the world was someone asking if she was okay when she'd just watched her former boss murder her fiancé? But then the confused roaring in her ears died down and she realized she was no longer lying immobile on a cold floor. She was sitting up, leaning forward and breathing heavily as her shaking hands gripped soft felt on either side of her.

"W…What?" she stuttered, bewildered. Lifting her head, she realized fully where she was—the backseat of the sedan she and her friends had borrowed for their cross-country journey. To her right, Piper was watching her with an expression equal parts confused and concerned.

"You were asleep," Piper said tentatively. "Then you like… gasped and jumped really bad. You know, like you were having one of those falling dreams. Is that what it was? You okay?"

Annabeth took a deep breath. A dream, that was all it had been. Of course Kronos hadn't found them yet. Her subconscious was only worrying colorfully about the future, nothing more.

"Yeah," she said breathlessly, leaning back heavily in her seat and wiping a thin layer of cold sweat from her brow. "Yeah, that's what it was." She caught Reyna's eye in the rearview mirror and thought she saw the older woman's gaze narrow suspiciously, so she quickly looked away and added, "I'm fine. No worries."

Piper seemed to relax, breathing out and giving a nervous sort of smile. "Jeez, don't freak me out like that. I was sort of dozing off too and when you moved I thought we were about to crash or something."

Annabeth chuckled, forcing horrible images from her mind's eye and trying to calm her nerves. It wasn't real. Kronos was far away at the moment. He wasn't a problem she'd have to deal with for—hopefully—quite some time. She needed to forget that fantasy and focus on the present. "Sorry. How close are we?"

"Very," Reyna answered from the driver's seat. "We'll hit the city in a few minutes. Do you want to get a hotel or head straight to the casino?"

"Hotel," Annabeth decided after a moment's consideration. "The rendezvous isn't until tomorrow night. Let's rest up and we can head over a few hours early to scope the place out."

"Sounds good to me," Piper agreed, stretching her arms and craning her neck. "I'm all about that resting up—in an actual bed this time."

Annabeth didn't say it aloud, but she was thinking along the same lines. There was a good chance this recent nightmare had been in part a product of the past few weeks' busy agenda and subsequent restless nights. If they really were about to finally catch up with Atlas, she would need to be at her best, not tired and distracted by personal fears and visions of blood.

Because deep down she knew that if she wasn't careful, that dream—the terrible scene she'd just witnessed inside her head—would become a reality. And the thought of that scared her more than any job, any fight, any other problem she'd ever had.

-0-0-0-

The Temple Grande Casino wasn't the largest building on Las Vegas's main drag, but it was definitely one of the most interesting. The place seemed to be an homage to an actual Roman temple. It had a high, triangular roof and was lined on the outside with sleek, white marble columns so polished their surfaces were reflective. Glittering gold statues of spear-wielding deities flanked the entrance drive. Inside, violet and gold silk banners draped from the high ceiling over the casino floor and ringed the pillars erected at each of the room's four corners. A grand staircase wound around the perimeter of the casino floor, leading up to what was likely a collection of private rooms for rent.

Even in the early afternoon, the place was packed. In a way, that was good for Annabeth, Reyna, and Piper, because it gave them leave to inspect as much of the casino's layout as they could without standing out from the crowd. They killed some time formulating a plan, and by the time seven o'clock rolled around Annabeth was alert and ready to run some recon.

"We need to come back here for a normal vacation sometime after all this is over," Piper suggested with a wistful glance at the fully-stocked bar to their left behind which four very attractive men were bartending. "You know, when we can just let loose and not have to worry about work."

Annabeth gave a rueful smile. "Not a bad idea. I'm sure when this is all over we'll _need_ to let loose a little."

"Right?" Piper agreed with a grin. "What could be a better stress-reliever than a weekend drinking, flirting, and gambling in one of the county's biggest party cities?"

"It could be a while, though," Annabeth pointed out thoughtfully. "I don't think it'd be smart to let our guard down until we're safe from Kronos and Atlas."

Piper sighed. She leaned forward and rested her elbows on the small round table at which they were seated, chin in her hands. "Yeah, good point. Well, whenever it does happen, I hope those guys are still working here. Chatting up hot strangers is one of my all-time favorite hobbies. And since you guys both have boyfriends, that leaves all of them for me." Mid-chuckle she noticed Reyna grow tense beside her and her expression deflated. "Sorry," she said sincerely, lightly elbowing the martial artist in the arm. "Touchy subject, I know. I just meant…"

Reyna shook her head. "It's okay."

Annabeth ran a hand through her brown hair to cover her own brief grimace at Piper's mention of 'boyfriends'. The majority of her dream from the previous afternoon had faded from her memory, but just enough of it remained to pull at her nerves when thoughts of her fiancé crossed her mind. She knew her worried countenance wasn't nearly as justified as Reyna's—her boyfriend Leo was in actual, real-time danger—so she didn't think it necessary to acknowledge it. It was just her own imagination running wild.

"Hey, check it out," Reyna went on with a frown, nodding to something over Annabeth's shoulder. The former assassin twisted around and saw immediately what Reyna must have indicated—a group of four men had just entered the casino and congregated near the entrance, looking around the hall but making no effort to approach the exchange booth or any of the machines or game tables. They barely even spoke to each other. It was obvious to the observant eye—they were waiting for something.

"Think those are our guys?" Piper wondered in an undertone.

"They might be," Annabeth noted, watching them carefully as two of them split off and headed through the open double doorway to their right which, according to the plaque mounted above it, led to the restrooms. "We should make sure before we waste too much time on them. Piper?" She turned to the younger woman and raised her eyebrows inquisitively. Piper had a distinct way with words and with people—probably due in part to her celebrity lifestyle and in part to her political science degree—and was unnaturally persuasive. She had a knack for getting information.

"On it," Piper promised with a smirk. She hopped down from her stool and adjusted her clothing to bear noticeably more skin. "You guys sit tight. Be back in a flash."

Annabeth and Reyna watched her as she strode away from them and circled the floor, approaching the men from the left of the entrance doors. As she smiled brightly and started talking animatedly, Annabeth frowned and said, "Maybe we should've bugged her. To hear what they're talking about."

"Too late now," Reyna pointed out. "She'll tell us when she gets back. Probably not safe for anyone else to go over there."

"Yeah."

After a few uneventful seconds, Reyna broke the silence by asking carefully, "Hey… Are you alright?"

Annabeth turned toward her in surprise. "Of course I'm alright. Why?"

"You just seem… reserved." Reyna lifted a shoulder. "Nervous, almost. Does it have anything to do with the dream you woke up from yesterday in the car?"

Annabeth bit her tongue. She almost blurted the same false reassurance she'd given before, but something in Reyna's expression held her back. She realized that the martial artist could probably sense her feelings because she too was feeling the same. Wouldn't it be something of an insult to deny it?

"A little," she admitted, leaning closer across the table and dropping her voice. Though the memory was fuzzy, Annabeth recalled as much as she could of her dream and recounted it for Reyna, who listened with quiet attentiveness. "I know it wasn't real," she summed up afterward, waving a hand. "But that doesn't mean it didn't freak me out. Especially because it's… Well, it wasn't some grand fantasy. The way it happened, it was… entirely possible."

Annabeth looked down at the polished mahogany of their table, considering her admission. She supposed that was exactly why the dream bothered her so much—it could very well have been real. It still could be, some day in the future. Oftentimes dreams were fantastical epics, imaginings so removed from reality that immediately upon waking they were pushed from the mind in their impossibility. But not this time, this dream. It was completely and utterly within the realm of potentiality.

"I get nightmares like that too, sometimes," Reyna said simply, her dark eyes growing distant. "About Leo—what they could be doing to him. I just keep reminding myself that... we're getting closer, that all this is gonna help us find him. It keeps me focused. I think you just need to find some form of self-reassurance, something you can think about to straighten things out. To make sure you don't get side-tracked."

Annabeth couldn't help a depreciative smile at the irony of the conversation. Reyna had no obligation to be sympathetic, not when her own situation was clearly the worse of the two. It was a testament to her character and emotional strength that all she had to give in the situation was advice. Annabeth hadn't been fully aware of it before, but she was really starting to find a good friend in Reyna.

"Yeah," she said with a small nod. "Thanks. I can't imagine how you must be feeling about all this, but I... Well, I really appreciate your talking me down anyway."

Reyna smiled, though Annabeth noticed that the expression didn't quite reach her eyes. "What are friends for?"

Growing serious, Annabeth reached out and gently touched Reyna's arm. "We're gonna make it," she promised. "No matter what it takes. _That's_ what friends are for."

This time Reyna's smile seemed a little more genuine.

They were distracted then by Piper's return as the younger woman slid between them and rapped her knuckles on the surface of the table.

"I think we've got our boys," she reported with an excited gleam in her eyes.

Annabeth felt her pulse pick up. "You're sure?"

"Not one hundred percent, but pretty sure. I tried to get them to leave, just to see if they would, but they said they're waiting for someone. I almost got one of 'em, too, but no dice. Either it's really important, or they're gay. And judging by the way I couldn't keep direct eye contact, I'm guessing it's not the latter."

Annabeth grinned. "Nice work, Piper. Let's keep an eye on them and see if something happens."

"You mean something like that?" Reyna chimed in, jerking her head in the direction of the entrance. Annabeth turned to see one of the men holding a finger to his ear, lips moving in conversation. Then he nodded to his partner and the two of them headed off for the back hallway, the same way the other two had gone shortly before.

"Come on," Annabeth said, sliding off her stool. She led the way across the casino floor, weaving around crowded card tables and game stations. They blended in with a small group of other women heading toward the restrooms, trying to keep the two men in their sights.

The double doorway led into a wide hallway that angled immediately to the right. Around the corner the hallway stretched the length of the casino floor before branching off, and gold-plated signs stuck out perpendicular to the wall indicating each restroom—the women's room near the front of the hall and the men's room farther down. Annabeth noticed a sheet of paper taped to the men's room door that read 'OUT OF ORDER—PLEASE USE UPSTAIRS RESTROOM. SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE'. That didn't stop the two potential agents, though; they pushed the door open and strode right in as though the warning wasn't even there.

"Well, that was suspicious," Piper observed in a low voice as the women they'd been following disappeared into the ladies' room and the three of them seceded from the group. "Check it out?"

"Naturally," Annabeth agreed, spurring them forward. They crept casually down the hall until they reached the men's room and paused outside the door. Reyna pulled a listening device from her bag—one of the many gifts Hank Beckendorf, Olympus's chief equipment specialist and codename Hephaestus, had given them before they'd set off. She pressed the sensor to the door, careful not to push it open, and held out a handful of already-tuned earpieces. Annabeth and Piper each took one and slid it into their ears.

"…say what happened?" a voice was picked up instantly.

"Only that they've been compromised," another of the men replied. "He had to call it off and didn't want to contact us until he was out of the state."

"So he's not coming?"

"That's Atlas alright," a third voice said irritably. "Too self-important to bother sending word ahead of time. Probably having a good laugh picturing us standing around in a casino bathroom, waiting for nothing."

Annabeth drew in a breath and exchanged glances with her friends. Atlas wasn't coming? He'd said they were compromised… He couldn't have found out they were this close, could he? Annabeth reached up to remove her earpiece, assuming she'd heard all she needed to hear and thinking it'd be best they make themselves scarce, but her hand froze midway when she heard her name through the wire.

"You think Agent Chase had anything to do with this?"

" _Ex-_ agent," another man corrected his teammate. "And who knows? Probably. You've heard the rumors, that she's been on Atlas's tail for weeks now. I don't know why he doesn't just set a trap and squash her. I mean, how much of a threat can one chick be?"

Annabeth furrowed her brow, mildly affronted. Part of her wanted to march in there and _show_ that guy how much of a threat she could be. She received some gratification, though, when another voice argued, "Yeah, but you know her rep, right? She was one the agency's best. I'm not saying she's a match for Atlas, but, you know… I wouldn't exactly want to run into her on the job."

"What are you, green? I'd love to run into her. Give me a chance to do something important. Think about it—get rid of Chase, Director's guaranteed to take notice. Then it's bye-bye Atlas's shadow, hello promotion. I'm telling you, a few minutes with that traitor is exactly what I need."

At that point, Annabeth was so annoyed she didn't realize that not only were the voices sounding from her earpiece, but they were also now audible through the restroom door. Her eyes widened as she realized the men were getting closer and she gestured frantically to the others, but Reyna barely had time to remove the listening device from the door before it was pulled open from the inside and the three of them stood face to face with four very surprised CIA agents.

"Uh, sorry," Piper said with a nervous smile. "Wrong room."

The man with his hand still on the door frowned at Annabeth, his jaw suddenly tensing. "Chase?" he said in alarm.

Annabeth recognized his voice as the same one who'd just spent the last few seconds insulting her, so she responded with a shrug and a sarcastic grin. "Ask and you shall receive," she said sweetly, before delivering a swift and powerful punch to his face.

Everyone moved at once. As the first agent reeled backward, two others dodged around him and lunged for the girls in the doorway. Piper ducked beside them and shoved one aside as Reyna blocked the other by lifting an arm. Annabeth pushed through into the restroom and bent backward to dodge a swing from the fourth agent, pivoting to kick him in the side as she did so. She noticed the agent who'd wanted to meet her approaching from behind her with a growl and quickly spun to block his hit with her wrist, throwing her own at his stomach. He staggered back and grabbed her outstretched arm, pulling hard and throwing her against the nearest bathroom stall. She lunged forward and shoved him away from her, putting enough distance to land a roundhouse kick to his shoulder and send him stumbling back against the leftmost urinal.

To her right, another agent was approaching. He landed a hit to the side of her face as she turned and she twisted to drive her elbow into his gut before dropping to a crouch and sweeping out her leg, forcing his out from beneath him and bringing him to the tiled floor. Before she could stand, a pair of hands grabbed her shoulders and yanked her onto her back. She grunted as pain spiked down her shoulder blades and an angry face appeared above her. A fist collided once with her cheekbone, but she deflected the second strike into the floor and landed her own to her attacker's mouth. She pulled a leg up and kicked the man in the chest, forcing him off of her, and quickly jumped back to her feet. Clumsily he dove for her again, but she did a quick spin to gather momentum and delivered another kick to the side of his chest, this time throwing him backward against another urinal and tugging it partly away from the wall. Water sprayed upward as the agent slumped to the floor, knocked out cold.

A loud crash caught Annabeth's attention and she whirled around to see that Reyna had just kicked another agent against the far wall of the stalls, breaking it free of its hinges and bring it crashing down. A domino effect brought down the adjacent wall and soon the man was no longer visible beneath the fallen debris. Behind Reyna, Annabeth glimpsed Piper swinging what looked like a garbage can against the head of another agent before someone grabbed her from behind and she was forced to avert her attention. She turned and aimed a punch, which the last agent intercepted. He tried to strike at her stomach, but she pivoted to the side and threw a high kick at his back. He stumbled forward and lunged sideways at Annabeth, forcing her toward the wrecked bathroom stalls. She almost tripped into the pile of broken laminated steel, but reached out and grabbed her attacker's shirt at the last second, using his balance to regain her own. She yanked him toward her and rammed her forehead against his, receiving a brief, dazed glare in reply before the man went limp. She dropped him onto the busted stall door and stepped away, brushing her hands together.

"Now that's what I call a rendezvous," Piper said with a grin, kicking spilled water across the floor as she approached Reyna and Annabeth.

"What the—?" a frantic voice interrupted, drawing all three girls' attention to the door, where two men in uniforms bearing the casino logo were staring at the disaster before them in shock.

"Uh-oh," Piper muttered as Annabeth tensed and breathed in sharply.

"Call security," one of the employees said to his companion. To Annabeth and the others, he said, "You three. Out in the hall."

"Wait, this isn't what it looks like," Annabeth tried to explain. "We were… Uh, I mean, they're…"

"Outside," the employee ordered them again, firmer this time. Annabeth sighed and resigned herself to fighting past him when she got a chance, exchanging a nod with Reyna and Piper. When she followed him out into the hall, however, stepping over unconscious CIA agents as she did so, she realized that there was a flaw in that plan—six more casino staff members were waiting outside, not including the one who'd rushed off to track down the building's security detail. Fighting their way out would be a lot more difficult when outnumbered at least two-to-one.

"We don't know what happened," Annabeth told the small congregation of staff, trying quickly to come up with the most plausible excuse for the scene they'd been caught in. "We were going to the bathroom and we heard a crash. We just went to check it out—I swear, we just got there before you."

"Nobody's under arrest just yet," the man who'd escorted them into the hall said, stone-faced. "But you'll excuse us for being skeptical. We'll need you to stick around until the police get here for questioning."

 _Not police…_ Annabeth thought with an inward groan. They would have to find a way to escape—and fast. Preferably a way that didn't involve fighting a losing battle. The evening had already amounted in failure. She didn't want to run the risk of any of her friends getting hurt on top of that.

"But—whoever did this is running around here somewhere!" Piper argued, possibly catching onto Annabeth's thought process through her little speech. "Aren't you gonna… you know, sound an alarm or something? People could be in danger!"

The staff member looked down at her coldly. "Not if we already have the attackers."

Piper did a good job of looking scared and annoyed at the same time. "But we didn't do anything!"

"She's telling the truth," a cool, authoritative voice said loudly, drawing everyone's attention down the hall to their right, back toward the casino floor. A few of the employees moved aside and Annabeth's eyes landed on a man approaching them with his eyes fixed on their accuser. He was tall and thin, dressed in a supple black suit with a shirt that looked to be made of the same violet satin that was hanging from the ceiling in the main hall. His hands were clasped behind a perfectly-straight spine and his sleek blond hair was styled back away from his long, stern face. Just from one glance, Annabeth could tell that this was not the sort of person one could argue with easily.

Their accuser seemed to know this as well and paled instantaneously. He opened his mouth, but the newcomer cut him off, stating, "I don't know what's going on here, but I hope you aren't planning to detain these women. I'd hate for my private party to be delayed any longer than necessary."

"Your… private party?" the employee repeated in a small voice.

The taller man raised an eyebrow. "Yes. These three have been with me all evening. They left a couple of minutes ago to use the facilities, and now I hear something about an attack? I certainly hope you aren't assuming my guests were involved."

Alarm bells went off in Annabeth's head. Why was this important-looking stranger lying for them? She felt her body tense, readying herself for whatever dangerous situation was coming.

"Oh, no, sir, of course not," the employee insisted hastily. "Your guests… No, we were just… making sure they were safe, yeah. It was just a minor incident, no need to be bothered. We were about to report it ourselves."

The stranger gave a small smile that was somehow both polite and threatening. It was actually a little creepy. "Good," he said calmly. For a long few seconds, a tense silence took over. No one moved until the man arched an eyebrow at the employee and said, "Well, don't let me keep you."

"Oh—right," the staff member said, jumping slightly. "Sorry, Mister Temple, sir. We'll inform security right away. Enjoy the rest of your night." Then he offered a short bow and the entire group of casino employees scampered away down the hall.

As they disappeared, the stranger released a heavy sigh and lowered his shoulders just barely, ocean blue eyes staring disapprovingly after the staff members as he shook his head.

"Um…" Annabeth muttered unintelligently, still trying to gather her thoughts and get a lock on what had just happened. There was no way this was simply a lucky break. Something was going on here. "Thanks, but… why did you help us? Do we know you?"

He turned his eyes on Annabeth and her muscles tensed, despite the fact that she sensed no ill intent from him. He didn't have the presence or body language of someone about to start a fight.

"I don't fully understand either," he responded, a tiredness in his voice that surprised Annabeth. What was that supposed to mean? "I just received a call from my girlfriend Elizabeth saying it was extremely important that I get down here and stop the staff from taking in three women who'd just exited the men's restroom. I was worried it was a prank at first, but, well… here you are."

"Elizabeth…?" Annabeth repeated, wracking her brain. She didn't think she knew anyone named Elizabeth.

That question was answered barely a second later, however, when a breathy voice behind her called out, "Annabeth!" and as she turned she got a quick glimpse of curly red hair before she was wrapped in a sudden and bone-crushing hug.

"R…Rachel?" Annabeth stammered in shock, lifting her arms to push her assailant back and take her in from head to toe.

Sure enough, the woman before her was none other than her good friend and former coworker, Rachel Dare. She was dressed in a floor-length satin gown and decked out with expensive jewelry, which was so unlike Rachel that for a second Annabeth felt a spark of doubt, but the spirals of ginger hair and mile-wide smile were exactly the same as she remembered.

"Shh!" Rachel hissed, holding a finger to her lips. "Don't call me that. It's Elizabeth now."

Annabeth blinked. "What—?"

"I'll explain, just not here," Rachel interrupted. She threw a glance over her shoulder and stepped past Annabeth, toward the man who'd just saved them. "Come on," she waved them forward. "Oh, you met my boyfriend?"

"Sort of," Annabeth responded with a glance at their helper. There was something so surreal about this whole situation that it took her a few extra seconds to notice that he'd held out his hand for her to shake.

"Octavian Augustus Temple the Sixth," he introduced himself when she finally took his hand. "Call me Ian."

"Nice to meet you," she said vaguely.

Piper snorted, reminding Annabeth that she and Reyna were there. "Your initials spell 'oats'?"

Ian raised an annoyed eyebrow and Annabeth muttered warningly, "Piper…"

"Sorry. I just really have a craving for oatmeal all of a sudden."

Reyna stepped forward before the subject could be further discussed and asked Ian, "Did you say 'Temple'?"

Ian nodded, turning his scowl away from Piper. "My family owns this casino," he told them.

Piper looked impressed. "So that's why those guys wet their pants when you told them off."

"Wait, I don't get it," Annabeth interrupted, rounding on Rachel. "Why are you here? What—?"

"Not here," Rachel repeated more insistently. "We've got a few rooms upstairs, we can talk there. Come on."

With that, she grabbed Ian's arm and marched down the hall, pulling him alongside her and leaving Reyna, Piper, and a completely bewildered Annabeth no choice but to follow.

* * *

 **That was fun, huh? More on this a little later, promise ;)**

 **I have the next chapter started, but as it's not yet complete I'll make no promises about update time. We'll go with the usual "shouldn't be too long".**

 **How 'bout a review? Thanks, everybody! Later days!**


	5. Pain

**Something of a breakaway here… There's somebody else we need to catch up with ;) It took me a lot of editing until I was happy with this, and I still may end up making small changes here or there. But whatever. We're moving on for now.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Crosswalks and crossed _hearts_ and **hope** -to-dies / _Silver_ clouds with **gray** linings

* * *

Leo Valdez had definitely had better days.

Hundreds of them, in fact. Probably thousands. Discounting those twenty-five lovely months he'd spent as a resident of FDC Houston, the rest of his life hadn't been all that bad, all things considered. Sure, he'd been orphaned at age eight, spent most of his adolescence hopping foster homes, fell in with some questionable crowds in high school, and had more than your average number of police run-ins and near-arrest experiences. But even the high-risk life of an illegal arms dealer was more fun that his most recent situation.

Yup, there was nothing like playing hostage to an obsessed and sadistic government agent with a violent superiority complex to make a person realize how good they had it.

There were a lot of things Leo had started to miss in recent weeks. Sunlight, for one thing—he was always stuck indoors during the day, as his CIA escort only traveled at night like some sort of vampire circus. Also caffeine, spicy food, the History Channel, his lighter, music that didn't suck, his car, the auto shop… It was a pretty long list. He didn't have much to do, after all, besides mull it over and add things here and there—sort of a depressing pastime, come to think of it. But it kept his mind occupied, which was better than the alternative: focusing on the present and probably letting it drive him insane.

Actually, Leo liked to think it a testament to some sort of superhuman resilience that he hadn't gone crazy yet, considering Number Two on his list of things he missed—'not being in a constant state of pain.' Assuming such a time had ever existed, of course. He'd sort of forgotten what it was like to have full mobility, to feel strength in his muscles and adrenaline in his blood. Sometimes it was hard to believe that the all-over burning ache he was growing rapidly accustomed to hadn't always been there, like some kind of incurable disease he'd suffered since childhood. Some of his memories hardly even made sense because of it; how could he have done any of the things he remembered, feeling like this? It didn't exactly add up.

 _Maybe I_ am _going crazy…_ he'd think dejectedly whenever this doubt crossed his mind. How else could one explain contradictions—imagined or otherwise—in their memory?

Leo shook his head and gritted his teeth, mentally reciting his list in descending order in an effort to keep his head grounded—remind himself what was real. When he reached Number Two, he stopped and started over, like he always did. Thinking about Number One made him feel guilty, after all, so he avoided it whenever possible.

Because in a situation like this, he didn't want to see the thing he missed most if it would mean putting her in danger. So some streak of insanity inside him had decided that as long as he kept her out of his mind, she'd stay as far away as possible.

Leo shifted his arms, allowing the soft _clink_ of metal against metal to break the silence of the passenger jet interior and distract him. He allowed himself to focus on current discomforts in an effort to break his thought train—the high-altitude pressure of the air around him, the rough and scraped skin on his wrists beneath familiar handcuffs, the way the angle of his arms pulled on the still-healing tendons in his left shoulder, sending a numbing tingle across his triceps. He slid the chain of his handcuffs along the pipe they'd been fastened around, which ran the length of the jet's low inner ceiling, and flexed his fingers to try and renormalize their blood flow. He wished Atlas could have just cuffed him to his seat or something. Was it really necessary to stick him in such an annoying position? He'd already tried yanking the thin pipe loose (sparing little thought to the possibility that it may be essential to keeping them in the air), but for how weak the thing looked it wouldn't budge. No such luck, naturally. Instead he'd chosen to be glad the lowest part of the ceiling was close enough to the back row of seats that he was able to sit down. Regardless of flight safety, he didn't for a second put it past Atlas to make him stand the entire trip, which would have been considerably worse.

With a short sigh, Leo leaned his head over the back of his seat and stared straight up at the slanted, dark gray ceiling. He had to admit that something about this trip made him nervous. They'd been traveling by van for weeks now through the southern portion of the continental U.S. (though Leo was rarely certain exactly which city they were visiting at the time), but that evening the routine had been switched up when Atlas had suddenly split his team, taking only Leo and two other agents aboard the jet and sending the rest off elsewhere. For some reason, Atlas's plan had been altered. And given the fact that the Deputy Director seemed like a stick-to-the-plan kind of guy, it made Leo wonder what had happened to change things. Something gave him the feeling that whatever was going on, it was nothing good for him.

He'd just started passing time by contemplating all the possible vacation spots the CIA could be planning to drop him off at when the cockpit door at the other end of the jet opened with a metallic creak. Leo didn't bother lifting his head; he could tell by the steady _thump_ of heavy boots who'd dropped by for a visit.

"Glad to see you're awake," Duke Atlas said gruffly as his dark, brutish face stuck itself into Leo's line of vision.

Leo sat up straight as Atlas took a step back, stooped beneath the low dip of the slanted ceiling. "Wasn't easy," he replied, his throat so dry his voice came out unexpectedly scratchy. "I considered nodding off a little bit ago—I mean, it's just so comfortable back here."

Atlas's lips twitched in a smirk as he took note of the sarcasm. Heavy irony was clear in his own tone as he said, "Your comfort _is_ , of course, my number one concern. Mind if I take a seat? It's been a while since we talked."

"Depends," Leo responded, wondering at the man's definition of 'a while'. He shifted his arms and leaned forward, eyeing the silver attaché case Atlas had just set on his lap as he sat down. "Aw, man," he groaned, trying not to visibly react as his chest tightened anxiously. "You couldn't at least wait 'til we land this thing? You're gonna give me vertigo, and unless you _want_ me hurling on those size-seventeens…"

"Sorry, kid," Atlas argued conversationally, sounding something less than 'sorry'. "But things've changed. You and me got a bit less time together than we thought, so we don't got the luxury of convenience anymore."

"Luxury of…" Leo repeated vaguely, thinking that nothing about this situation could be defined as anything close to luxurious. As he studied Atlas's face, though, his mind trailed off; the agent was good at reining in emotion from his expression, but the way his dark eyes shone more coldly than usual and his teeth clenched just noticeably tighter told Leo something was up. Atlas was serious now—more so than before.

The man was uncharacteristically silent as he unfastened the snaps on the attaché case and flipped open the top to reveal a set of familiar medical syringes. A frown creased his brow and squinted his eyes as he lifted one from its foam casing and slid the needle into the tiny opening of the sterilized bottle of clear liquid beside it. After filling the chamber, he flipped the syringe and tapped the needle, checking it to ensure proper working order, before setting the case on the next seat over and climbing to his feet.

"Wait, what are you doing?" Leo asked nervously, his entire body tensing up. He dropped the blasé act, too mentally and physically unprepared for whatever change Atlas had undergone. "Aren't you gonna… you know, ask me something first?"

"And draw this out?" Atlas shook his head. "Like I said, Leo, time's getting thin. I figure it's best we loosen you up a bit, then get to talking."

"No, wait," Leo tried again hastily as Atlas grabbed his wrist below the cuff and he felt the prick of the needle on the back of his hand. "You don't even know if I'm gonna—"

He halted and grimaced as Atlas slowly pressed the pump and the cold, clear liquid entered his bloodstream. He shut his eyes for the six short seconds of anticipation he knew would follow, before all at once a searing pain spiked in his arm, drawing a guttural scream from his throat. It spread like wildfire in a desert, soaking into his body and blinding him to everything except a burning, white cloak of heat, like each of his cells was being poked with a microscopic, fiery needle. Atlas and the plane disappeared. For that short time it was all he knew—all he had—and the tiny, weak part of his mind that still held onto conscious thought would do absolutely anything to make it stop.

Too bad the only way to do that was to give Atlas exactly what he wanted, whether Leo actually had it or not.

When the pain receded substantially to a low, dull ache, Leo realized he was hunched forward and panting heavily, arms pulling so tightly against his restraints that the metal cuffs had dug into his skin. He was only dimly aware of the narrow drops of blood skittering down his arms.

One of the most important things he'd learned during his stay with the CIA team: apparently, certain precise combinations of muscle relaxants and anesthetics could, when injected into smaller veins, cause extreme physical pain without doing any lasting damage to the body. Who knew, right? He was told the effects lasted less than a minute, but whoever measured that had clearly never experienced them firsthand—when you were under, it felt like an eternity. Objectively speaking it was a solid interrogation technique, allowing someone to hurt and scare their captive without the danger of seriously injuring them and losing any information they had. But then, Leo was hardly capable of speaking objectively. Not after weeks of personal involvement.

"Now that we're all good and relaxed," Atlas said as the loud buzzing in Leo's ears faded. He sat back down in the seat to his captive's right. "Let's chat a bit. Was it nice being back home after so long?"

 _Home?_ Leo repeated mentally, his vocal cords too sore to produce sound. Instead he shook his head silently.

"I know we weren't in Houston long," Atlas went on, causing Leo's heart to skip a beat as he understood. "Too bad you couldn't give us a tour. We did unearth some interesting history, though, and the boys and I've been meaning to get a little more background. Maybe you can help us out."

Leo hung his head and waited, recalling Atlas's earlier claim that they were running out of time and subsequently wondering why the agent was bothering to beat around whatever question he wanted to ask.

"You see, it involves a woman named Esperanza Valdez, who—if I'm not wrong—you used to be quite close to."

The name gave Leo a burst of energy. Fire flared in his stomach, pushing away some of the nausea that the earlier pain had brought on, and he finally lifted his head, turning to face Atlas with a glare that he hoped didn't look as weak as it felt.

"Your mother, yeah?" Atlas asked rhetorically. "She owned a machine shop, back in the day. Relatively small, a solid business but not overly lucrative. Revenue was hardly sufficient to support the lease, let alone the livelihood of a single mother and her kid. No other jobs that you know of, right? So how do you explain the comfortable lifestyle you had back then?"

Leo was having a hard time keeping up with Atlas's swift explanation. It was a long time ago. He hadn't exactly worried about things like money when he was a kid. How the hell was he suppose to answer that question—and more importantly, what did his childhood lifestyle have to do with anything?

When he didn't answer, Atlas went on unperturbed. "I'll explain it for you," he offered. "It took some tracing, but you'll imagine our surprise when we learned the truth—that your mother had been receiving generous grants wired directly to her bank account from a third party source that had nothing to do with her business. Every other month for almost ten years before her death, like clockwork."

Leo's brain seemed unhelpfully blank. He was still so distracted wondering how this was at all relevant to Atlas's crusade against Olympus that the information he was getting wasn't entirely sinking in. "…What?" he muttered hoarsely.

Atlas's eyes hardened. Leo thought it strange that the agent wasn't wearing the satisfied smirk that typically stretched his face during interrogations. If inflicting pain wasn't bringing the Deputy Director the usual joy, then they really _were_ getting low on time—and Atlas was getting desperate. This wasn't exactly a comforting realization for Leo, either. A desperate Atlas wasn't exactly something he was eager to witness. And that wasn't even considering what was supposed to happen when this 'time' ran out.

"Even more interestingly," Atlas went on, "the grants were routed through a financial institution in Chicago, Illinois. Cash deposits, every time. We contacted them and had them do a persons search, and they got back to us just a bit ago and confirmed that the name used for the transfers was fake." His voice dropped, taking on a menacing intonation. "Now, who do we know with access to that kind of money and a central division HQ so close to the source of the transfers?"

Leo was trying with all his active brainpower to focus and piece together what Atlas was telling him. He'd expected the agent to grill him again on Annabeth Chase or her boyfriend he'd only known for like three hours, or Poseidon or Hades or anybody else he hadn't even a glimmer of information on. This business with his family was entirely new and entirely unexpected.

As the story settled, however, Leo found he was still having a hard time fully processing it. He replayed everything in his head and the agent's implication finally clicked. "Wait…" he said slowly, nonplussed. "Are you saying… you think Olympus was bribing my mother? What… Why?"

"I was hoping you could tell me," Atlas said with a shrug. "Thousands of dollars coming her way every other month from just before you were born to the day she died? Sounds like blackmail to me. And sounds like it had something to do with you."

Leo felt his eyebrows draw together and unconsciously he leaned away from Atlas. This was news to him, just as it was to his interrogator. But it didn't make sense. He hadn't even known about Olympus until he got into weapons dealing when he was sixteen. Atlas really _was_ desperate now, seeing elaborate conspiracies where there shouldn't have been any connections at all.

Still… Olympus or no Olympus, what _was_ the explanation for what Atlas had uncovered? If he was telling the truth (which Leo had to assume he was; what reason did he have to demand information on events he'd made up?), then maybe there really was a story here.

"I know you're sick of hearing it," he said after a minute, realizing that Atlas was still waiting for an answer, "but I've got no idea what you're talking about."

Atlas gave a short sigh, his jaw tightening. "Like I said, kid, time isn't something we can take advantage of anymore." He reached around his back and produced a 45-millimeter handgun, which he pointed at the ceiling and waved casually back and forth. "I'm prepared to press a little harder if I need to. I always suspected you were hiding some connection to Olympus. Why else would you be helping them?"

"I told you," Leo reminded him, agitated and confused. "I was only after—"

"But now I _know_ it's true," Atlas cut him off. "Now I _know_ you have more history with them than you say. This thing with your whore of a mother is proof of that."

"Back off her, you—!" Leo broke off as Atlas pressed the barrel of his 45 against the not-quite-healed gunshot wound in his right leg, a memento of their first few minutes together that the agent liked to remind him of now and then.

"You want to talk?" Atlas growled. "Then talk. I don't know what Mommy did, but she must've had some inside info on Olympus for them to pay her off like that. Now maybe she didn't share it with you. But I've got a hard time believing you're totally in the dark here. If that were the case, you wouldn't still be helping 'em out, now, would you? Like mother like son, eh?"

If Leo had a slightly larger fraction of his usual strength and wasn't handcuffed to a plane, he probably would've started swinging regardless of the gun in Atlas's hand. Accusing him was one thing—hey, he wasn't a model citizen. He'd admit it. But accusing his mother, who, as he remembered it, had done nothing but work hard to give the two of them some semblance of a normal life? That was going too far. So Leo never had a father. So his mother never talked about him, or even seemed to know who he was. That didn't make her a bad person. And it definitely didn't mean Atlas could throw words around like he understood.

When Leo continued to fume quietly, Atlas released a frustrated sigh. "I'll get the truth out of you somehow," he promised. "No matter what it takes." He slid his gun back into its holster and picked up the silver attaché case, retrieving another syringe.

"Hey, come on, just… listen to me for a sec," Leo stammered, watching the agent fill the syringe with liquid and starting to feel sick again. "I can't give you something I _don't have_. I swear, I don't know anything about this."

Atlas climbed to his feet. "We'll see about that."

Leo felt his still-aching muscles tense in helpless dread as the older man's oversized hand reached for him, but before it made contact a voice from the front of the jet interrupted, "Agent Atlas, we have a problem."

Still bent forward beneath the low ceiling, Atlas turned sideways, revealing one of his agents standing near the open cockpit door and staring at them with a stony expression. "What is it?" the Deputy Director asked with a bit more harshness than was called for.

"We detected a trace, sir," the agent reported. "Rebounded. We couldn't track it back to the source so we don't know what they got before we blocked the signal."

"Damn her," Atlas growled, throwing the syringe to the floor and crushing it under an enormous boot. His square jaw slid back and forth as a hard glare solidified his facial features, dark eyes staring at the nearest wall for a few silent seconds. "Stay on course," he decided, turning back to face the agent. "Kronos should have taken care of Poseidon and left New York by now. He'll be expecting us back in Langley. Once we're there, we won't have to worry about outside interference. And _you_." When he spun around, his gun was back in his hand, cocked and aimed at Leo's chest.

Leo flinched in alarm as the agent near the front of the jet said hastily, "Agent Atlas, sir, medical is limited here, I wouldn't…"

Atlas ignored him, angry gaze fixed on his prisoner. He stepped forward and bent low, gently touching the cold barrel of his weapon to the skin above Leo's right eye.

 _He's not gonna kill me_ , Leo told himself adamantly. _He's just trying to scare me. He needs me._ It was the truth, the logical side of his mind knew. Trouble was, logic didn't exactly win out easily against the feeling of having a gun to your head.

"Get some rest," Atlas advised, voice low and rough. "We'll catch up back home. Got a lot to talk about, you and me. Have to fit it in before your time's up." He smiled and lowered his gun, patting Leo twice on the cheek before closing the silver case and taking it with him to follow the other agent back into the cockpit.

It took Leo a moment to calm his nerves and realize that he was alone again. He let out a shaky breath and leaned backward, trying to relax. Not that it was easy. A pale red hue still bled into the corners of his vision, though he wasn't sure if the cause was anger or pain. He'd experienced a considerable amount of both in the past few minutes. He shifted his stiff and tired arms in their restraints and winced; his right arm was almost completely numb now—a side effect of the drug, he knew from experience. It would fade in a few hours. Then the pain would be back.

Leo let out a frustrated growl and kicked the base of his seat below him, tilting his head back and glaring at the ceiling. Distressing as his constant state of physical discomfort was, he had something more pressing to dwell on—what the hell had Atlas been talking about?

This wasn't the first time the Deputy Director had exploited Leo's familial history and insulted his single mother in an attempt to get a rise out of him. But the information he'd given, that an anonymous source very near Olympus's headquarters had been sending them money regularly for years—Leo had to admit he found it unsettling. A spark of doubt had taken root in his memory. What if this time Atlas was right? What if his family _did_ have some connection to Olympus that he'd been unaware of all his life? Had his mother actually been involved with them, blackmailed them for some reason like Atlas seemed to believe? Was she the reason the criminal organization had come after him years later—the reason he was in this mess at all?

Immediately after that thought crossed his mind, he regretted it. The idea that he was second-guessing the woman who'd raised him—who'd worked so hard and been rewarded for it with an early and accidental death—pulled painfully at something inside him, making his heart ache with guilt. He shook his head and tried to make himself believe that Atlas was wrong, that he was tired and weak and unable to think clearly. But it didn't last. Atlas's voice stayed rooted in his head, whispering accusations in his ear and flashing images behind his eyes. His memory of his mother was one of the few core ties Leo had to who he was, something he'd think about whenever things got tough. But now even that had been tainted with darkness.

Olympus. This was their fault. All of it was their fault. It made him feel wrong to think he was connected to them—unclean, worse than the criminal he already was. He wished he'd never agreed to go after Zeus in the first place. Sure, it was great to see the old man get what was coming to him. But the more time passed, the more he wondered if it was really worth it. The danger he'd put himself and Reyna in was too extreme for—

Leo sat up quickly and yanked on his arms, purposely digging his handcuffs into the cuts on his wrists so the pain would fill his mind and shove everything else aside. He wasn't supposed to think about her. She was safer that way. It was better—easier—if he was alone.

 _The list. Remember the list._

Coffee and sunlight. Power tools and rock music. Restful sleep. No pain.

Those were the things he missed. Those were the things he wanted back.

He sighed shakily and closed his eyes, hating the way his swimming vision made the walls around him seem to shift and wave, driving a strong feeling of nausea through his chest and stomach. He wished he had something to tell the CIA. Wished it more than once before, in fact. Maybe if he gave them some information they found useful, they'd let him go. Yeah, they knew he was involved in arms trafficking. Some part of him deep down suspected that once he'd given that info up he'd erased any chance of his getting free. But that didn't mean he couldn't hope for a little bit of lenience, even despite the fact that Atlas clearly didn't like him.

Which wasn't exactly his fault, he preferred to believe. He knew he wasn't the most docile of hostages. But sometimes he couldn't really regulate what came out of his mouth. The counselor he'd been forced to see in high school had told him that the jocularity he exhibited in response to confrontation was a 'defense mechanism', a way to protect himself. His reflex was to make light of any otherwise heavy situation, because mentally he couldn't handle the strain of depression. It was ironic that this so-called 'defense mechanism' usually only served to get him into more trouble, but it was something he couldn't control. To Atlas, it probably looked like he was intentionally screwing with them, refusing to cooperate. But that wasn't the case. Really, he just wanted this all to stop.

 _Got a lot to talk about, you and me,_ Atlas's voice echoed in his head, taunting him. _Have to fit it in before your time's up._

 _Your_ time, he'd said. Not _our_ time or just _time_. _Your_ time.

Dry throat tightening uncomfortably, Leo glanced up at the cockpit door and realized that before long, he might end up getting what he wanted after all.

* * *

 **Yeah, so I did end up needing to add some more POVs. Not a lot, though. The vast majority of chapters will be narrated by either Annabeth or Percy. Only like... three, I think, won't be them. They're the stars here, after all.**

 **How 'bout a review? Have a good weekend, gang! Later days!**

 **-oMM**


	6. Control

**It's Friiiiiidaaaaaay! Look at me keeping up with myself, haha. I realized the other day while tweaking my outline that the first half of this is a little slow, with more set-up and dialogue than anything else. All the big action chapters are in the second half. So if things start to seem dull, just remember—I promise the excitement is coming. Just hang with me.**

 **Thanks as always, gang! Enjoy!**

* * *

So we can take the **world** back from the _heart_ -attacked / One **maniac** at a time, we will _take it back_

* * *

When Percy had first arrived at the underground medical facility beneath the Marten apartment complex, Olympus's east-coast division headquarters, that Friday afternoon, he'd thought for a while that he'd fallen asleep again and was dreaming. There was something strange and surreal about seeing his father in a hospital bed, unconscious and bruised and weak. As long as Percy remembered, Parker Grace had never been weak. Never been vulnerable. Never been broken. Yet there he was, defeated and still. And the looks people were giving Percy—sympathy, fear, awe—like his father was already dead. It just didn't seem real, any of it.

But the longer he stayed, the thinner his mind's membrane of denial waned. The evidence made too much sense—the casualties, the loss of equipment, the somber attitude. Kronos really had made a move—a brash and deadly move—and their unpreparedness had cost them. He didn't want to believe it, but he wasn't in a position where he could afford to play dumb. This hit was a major blow to the organization. And as a leader, he would have to deal with it. He'd spent the entirety of his morning flight from Chicago and the cab ride into Belle Harbor forcefully reminding himself of that fact.

Still, knowing that didn't make it any easier. It was one thing to understand the reasons calling for a firm hand and a steady mind. It was another thing entirely to execute them while being spoken to about third-degree burns, head trauma, internal bleeding, and the fact that you may never exchange words with your father again. Not to mention the names of eleven others who'd been killed or injured in the clash, and the measly three CIA agents they'd eliminated in return. He took the news with a stoic mask, but behind it he was shaken. Every negatively-connoted word he'd received in the past few weeks had formed some kind of pit inside him, swallowing bits of hope and security piece by piece. And this disaster caused a landslide.

Mercifully, the doctors had left Percy alone with his dad after the situation had been fully explained, and now here he sat almost two hours later, staring half-blindly at the man and finally coming to terms with the idea that he was not in fact dreaming this up. No dream was this agonizingly slow; his subconscious couldn't possibly feel each dragging second like a knife to the gut, delving a little deeper with every movement of the clock hands on the wall. No, that feeling was real—all of it was real. The steady beeping of the heart monitor, loud in its lonely echo. The heavy stillness of Parker's body, broken only by the miniscule bob of his chest as he breathed. The burn mark poking from beneath the bandage on his left arm, bisecting the black trident tattooed on his bicep as though pictorially shortening his lifespan. The soft stitch between his eyebrows, belying pain beneath the slumber. It was all real. And it was all horrifying.

An explosion, that was what they'd reported. The CIA team had used some sort of bomb against Olympus and their allies after a short ballistic clash. There'd been no way to avoid the damage. Percy almost couldn't believe Kronos had beaten them, had landed such a serious blow and walked away victorious.

 _No,_ he told himself the second that thought crossed his mind. _He hasn't beaten us—not yet. This was one win. It's not the end._

Because this loss meant one thing and one thing only: the war was on. For months now, both sides had been waiting for the other to make a move. Now Kronos had struck, and the time for waiting was done. Wasting time thinking it was over—all that would do was ensure that it really was. And Percy wasn't ready for that. Not yet.

Of course, there was still the glaring question of what to do next. And completely honestly, he hadn't the slightest idea.

A little after 9:00 PM, the room's only door opened and Paul Archer stepped inside, a long, white coat over his T-shirt and jeans and a clipboard in his hand. Officially Paul—known as Apollo to some—co-headed organization combat training with his twin sister Tammy, but as he was also a genius in the field of emergency medicine, he oversaw things in the Marten's facility when he wasn't on a job. That night happened to be one such occasion.

"Hey," he greeted Percy, who was glad when the older man didn't smile. He wasn't entirely sure he could offer one in return. "Don't suppose there's been any change since I left?"

"Nothing I can see," Percy replied, his voice so thin and emotionless it was almost alien.

Paul's mouth twisted sideways as he approached Parker's bed. "I've got to prep him for surgery. It's cool if you want to stay, but…"

Percy shook his head and stood up, forcibly turning his gaze from his father's motionless form. "Nah, I think I need to get out of here. Maybe do some damage control. Everybody's probably shot down after this whole thing."

For a second Paul's eyebrows angled and he paused with his mouth open, a sheen of contrition glassing his eyes. But then he blinked and looked down, expression slipping back to one of calm professionalism. "Alright," he said. "I'll let you know how it goes."

"You think… he'll be okay?" Percy asked before he could stop himself, feeling a chill attempt to crack his voice.

Again Paul hesitated. When he replied, his tone was melancholy. "I really don't know. I'm sorry, Percy."

"Don't be," Percy told him soberly, having expected a similar sort of answer. "Just do what you can." Paul nodded in assurance.

Percy's steps were heavy as he left the room and headed down the hall, no clear destination immediately in mind. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat, trying to empty his head of all the thoughts inside fighting for dominance. He didn't want to focus on them. Not all together. If he did, he had a feeling their jarring multitude would come very close to tearing his psyche apart. And that was something he couldn't afford right now. He _had_ to stay strong. For the organization.

"Percy, hey," a voice interrupted. Percy jolted to a halt and looked up to see a set of open double doors to his right leading into a lounge, and his best friend Grover rising from a cushioned chair inside.

"Hi," Percy replied, feeling himself relax just a little at seeing a friendly face and actually managing a smile. He stepped into the lounge as Grover approached and wordlessly pulled him into a tight hug.

"How're you holding up?" Grover asked when they separated. He crossed his arms and studied Percy's face with clear concern in his eyes.

Percy lifted a shoulder. "How do you think?" The touch of disdain in his tone was unintentional—maybe after forcing back the majority of his emotions, that was all he had left. Grover flinched just barely in response and Percy shook his head and backtracked, "Sorry, I just… I'm not totally 'in control' right now."

Grover cocked his head with an inquisitive frown and opened his mouth, but, not wanting to discuss it further, Percy cut him off, "Does my uncle know what happened?"

Grover released his breath in a sigh and nodded solemnly. "Called him right after I called you. He's flying in tomorrow. Won't be able to stay long, though—apparently there's some big show at the club next weekend and he's got a bunch of re-scheduling to take care of."

"Right." Percy ran a hand through his hair and took a few aimless steps sideways as Grover dropped back into the seat he'd recently vacated.

"You should sit down," Grover suggested. "You look exhausted."

"I've been sitting for hours," Percy replied, shaking his head and staring at the carpet. "That's all I do anymore, is sit. Sit and worry and try to work out things I have next to no chance getting a handle on. I just need…" He trailed off and closed his eyes for a second, noticing his heartbeat gain momentum and trying to calm it down. What _did_ he need, exactly?

"Hey… What's wrong?" Grover asked quietly, a soft note of worry in his voice. It faded somewhat when he muttered, "Ouch—stupid question…"

"Everything's wrong," Percy blurted out, waving his arms weakly as he turned to face his friend. He still didn't want to dwell on what was bothering him, but for whatever reason he couldn't stop his mouth from putting the words out there, like he was under some kind of spell. Maybe some part of him was just tired of suffering alone. "I thought I could handle this, you know? I know the organization. I know how it works. How hard could it be? But how stupid was that? Thinking I could just… disappear for a while and then come back and everything would be the same. Because it's not. And that's mostly my fault."

"Your fault?" Grover repeated, eyes narrowing inquisitively. "Of course this isn't your fault."

"Well, maybe _this_ isn't," Percy admitted, waving a hand toward the empty doorway in a vague indication of the defeat that had brought him back to New York. His head was starting to ache, a slow, pulsing pain hammering at the backs of his eyes. Pressing his palm to his forehead, he explained, "But after what we did, I'm starting to feel like… like this is some kind of karmic retribution. Like I just want to make things right but some god up there's like 'Hey, screw you! Serves you right for helping kill your own family!'"

Grover's eyes widened a stitch in comprehension and he opened his mouth, but he must not have decided exactly what to say because no sound was forthcoming.

Percy took a step backward and looked down, not wanting to meet his friend's worried gaze. It only made him feel worse—he was supposed to be a leader. The strong one. The sure one. The one who made others feel better, not the one who made them afraid. Another failure to add to the list.

"I'm trying here," he said, feeling a need to explain himself. But the brittle strain in his voice made it sound like an excuse—a plea, even. And somehow it made him sick. His stomach turned and his chest tightened, cold adrenaline sparking his nerves like live wires. What was wrong with him? Why was he losing it like this? "But it's all a mess," he went on. "Zeke's guys hate me and I can't get a handle on the central division, which is basically my whole job right now—and there's Kronos and the CIA to worry about, because it's not like they're gonna step aside for a while and give me a break to work things out. No, they had to hit us with _this_ — _exactly_ what I need at the moment."

He turned sideways and stared helplessly down at his hands, which were starting to shake. A hysterical sort of laugh escaped his throat for some reason at the sight—at the irony that even the tiny bit of control he'd thought he'd had was just gone. He was suddenly out of breath, but that didn't stop the jumble of words from cascading out of his mouth as he paced the floor restlessly.

"Now my dad could be dying and I've got an internal uprising to watch out for and the CIA could attack again at any minute and I kind of wish Annabeth was here but I haven't heard from her in days so I don't even know if she's alive and is this what a panic attack looks like? Because—I'm pretty sure I'm having a panic attack."

Grover jumped to his feet with an exclamation of "Whoa, Perce, whoa! Look, first of all, _sit down_." He grabbed Percy by the shoulders and shoved him into the nearest seat. This time Percy didn't protest—he was too busy trying to hear around the roaring in his hears.

"Okay, uh…" Grover muttered, looking anxious. "You've got to calm down. Try holding your breath."

Percy shook his head and stammered, "I-I can't." He was breathing so quickly his lungs hurt and his pounding heart felt like it was about to burst through his chest. It was as though all the anxiety he'd built up since leaving London two months ago had broken free and was pressing in on him from all sides, suffocating him as he tried in vain to shake it off. This was exactly what he'd been afraid of—that if he let them, all of his grievances would explode at once and he'd lose the last tiny hold he had on certainty and reality. He hadn't let himself realize it before, but everything was wrong— _everything_. How the hell was he supposed to fix it?

Grover was still gripping his shoulders tightly and looked to be saying something, but his voice was now a mess of incoherent sounds in Percy's ears. His vision wouldn't focus completely—enough to see his surroundings but not quite enough to make out his friend's expression. He thought he heard the word 'sorry' somewhere in Grover's speech, before the guy did something highly uncharacteristic and threw a fist at Percy's jaw. Hard.

Surprisingly, it actually helped. The sharp sting of pain cut through Percy's mind like a bolt of lightning, monopolizing his focus for an instant long enough to blur everything else. A few seconds of closing his eyes brought clarity to his vision. His heart continued to slam against his ribcage, but he was breathing slower and more rhythmically, if still a bit heavily. He clenched his hands into fists, successfully stopping them from quavering.

"…Percy?" Grover said tentatively from somewhere to Percy's right. He realized he was now leaning sideways over the arm of his chair as Grover asked, "You alright?"

Percy turned to face him and gave a weak smirk, eyelids heavy with exhaustion. "Since when do you hit so hard?" he countered wryly.

The urgent expression on Grover's face melted in relief and he responded with a nervous sort of chuckle. "Sorry," he said again. "I couldn't think of anything else to do. I wasn't expecting you to…"

"Have a mental breakdown?" Percy suggested breathlessly with a mirthless half-smile.

Grover didn't smile back. His eyebrows drew together as he stood from his crouch and sat down in the chair to Percy's immediate left. "This is serious, man," he said solemnly.

Percy leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees, frowning at the floor. "You think I don't know that?"

"No, I know _you_ do," Grover explained. "Especially now, after… I mean _I_ didn't know it. None of us did."

"If you're saying I should've asked for help…"

"I'm saying you shouldn't have needed to," Grover interrupted, a remorseful edge heightening his tone. "…I should've been there for you this whole time. I'm sorry."

Percy lifted his head but couldn't bring himself to look at Grover. He wanted to argue with him—tell him he had no reason to be sorry. But for whatever purpose the words wouldn't come. Maybe he'd talked himself out.

"You're not alone here," Grover went on when he didn't respond. "I know it sounds lame and cliché and all, but… it's the truth. I didn't realize how messed up everything was right now. But you shouldn't have to sort it all out on your own. Not that I don't think you could…"

Percy scoffed derisively. "I think it's pretty clear I _can't_."

"Come on," Grover argued, a tiny hint of humor entering his voice. "You and me have been friends for a while, right?"

Percy glanced sideways and raised an eyebrow at him. "We're not checking for a concussion, here," he pointed out jokingly.

Grover gave a small smile. "I just mean… I know you pretty darn well. You're a natural leader—always have been. You belong where you are."

"Maybe," Percy said noncommittally.

"Let's just work this out one problem at a time," Grover suggested, leaning backward in his seat. "Then you'll see what I mean. Now, uh… I know it was a crazy couple minutes there, but I'm pretty sure I heard the words 'internal uprising' somewhere in your spiel? What's that about?"

Percy cringed at the topic change. He hadn't planned on spreading that information around just yet, but Grover was right—in his state of mental vulnerability he'd let it slip. No taking it back now.

"Brunner stopped by my place yesterday to warn me," he explained. "Apparently, United's acting CEO—some guy named Jason Sharpe—is planning to stake a claim for central head. A bunch of Zeke's old loyals are saying he picked the guy personally—which, if he did, he sure didn't let my dad or Harley in on it. They've been under the impression he never appointed another heir after Thalia."

Grover's brow creased in unease. "Think he's got enough support to go against you?"

"I don't know. Brunner seemed to think they weren't quite there yet, but when they are, I doubt they'll be sending us a friendly memo. I just hope they hold off until the CIA's off our backs. I don't want to have to worry about getting my feet knocked out from under me while I try to fight Kronos."

"Maybe it'd be best to deal with this first," Grover pointed out, causing Percy to look over at him with a bemused frown. "Well, think about it—wouldn't it be easier to withstand whatever Kronos throws at us if we aren't expecting attacks from both sides? Besides, there's nothing you can do for your dad right now, so it's no use beating yourself up there. And an immediate counterattack on Kronos would be suicide, you know that as well as I do. But this, we might be able to do something about. Why don't you get in touch with this Jason Sharpe and see if he'll meet with you? If we're lucky, you two can work something out—at least until this war with the CIA is over."

"Assuming we're all still around when it is," Percy said wryly.

"True," Grover agreed. "If not, then hey—you'll be dead and you won't have to worry about it anyway."

Percy shook his head with a depreciative laugh. "Alright, you got a point. I'll call Sharpe and hear him out. Maybe we can make some kind of deal."

"Optimism, good." Grover nodded. "Go with that. Oh, and hey, about Annabeth—Reyna called in a few hours ago, said they're following up on a lead in Vegas. I was gonna let you know soon as I ran into you, but, well… Distractions."

Percy sat up straight, something inside him seeming to inflate as a greater measure of his anxiety was cut. "Really?"

"Yeah. So assuming that went well, they're doing okay out there."

"Good," Percy sighed in relief. With everything else going on, he'd barely even realized how worried he was deep down about Annabeth. He knew it was stupid for him to expect her to call every day, especially considering how dangerous her mission was. But he couldn't deny the fact that every hour he didn't hear from her caused him to suspect the worst more and more. It was probably just another product of his over-worked nerves. Hopefully she'd be back soon; having her around was an effective stress-reliever in and of itself.

"I should really get back home," Grover said, climbing from his seat and stretching his arms over his head. "Juniper's gonna be waiting up for an update. You need a place to crash while you're here?"

Percy shook his head. "I'm just gonna stay here, up in my dad's suite. Thanks, though." He let his expression grow serious as he glanced up at Grover, hoping his friend caught that he was grateful for more than just the offer of a temporary home. "And sorry for… you know, losing it on you."

Grover smiled. "Don't worry about it. We're friends. It's my job to…"

"Punch me in the face?" Percy supplied, rotating his still-sore jaw.

With a chuckle, Grover agreed, "When you need it, yeah. Just don't go stacking up the stress on your own anymore, okay? Remember: one thing at a time." He grinned and waved goodbye as he strode out of the lounge and disappeared down the dark hallway outside.

Now alone, Percy leaned back in his chair and released his breath in a slow sigh. The anxiety attack he'd just fallen victim to was something of a wake-up call. He'd been going about this whole leadership thing the wrong way, thinking that every problem was his to solve as swiftly and concisely as possible. But Grover was right—a lot of the organization's problems couldn't be solved at the moment. There was nothing good to be had from dwelling on the big picture and how messed up it was. Kronos, Atlas, his father, Annabeth, the uprising—if he just took things steady and focused on what he _could_ fix, he'd be able to keep his head.

"One thing at a time," he repeated to himself, deciding that as long as he made it his mantra for the time being, then maybe—just _maybe_ —he could bring the organization through this after all.

At the very least, it was something worth hoping for. And with the chasm of doubt eating away at the dregs of positive emotion Percy had left inside, he'd take any small amount of hope he could get.

* * *

 **Maybe someday I'll write something happy. We'll see.**

 **Leave a review on your way out, maybe? We're back with Annabeth next chapter, and hopefully next week. Later days!**

 **-oMM**


	7. Neon

**I'll be the first to say this chapter is hardly worth a three-week wait. I've just had like zero time to work on this in the past month with everything going on. It's been really annoying, actually.**

 **Thanks as always, gang! Enjoy!**

* * *

You know time _crawls on_ when you're waiting for the **song** to start / So dance **alone** to the _beat_ of your heart

* * *

It was a good thing Annabeth had made the effort to claim a good night's sleep the evening she and her friends arrived in Las Vegas, because the following night found her wide awake well past midnight, standing in a casino suite with a collection of heavy thoughts buzzing in her mind and no hope of restful relaxation in the near future.

Catching up with Rachel hadn't exactly been the fun experience Annabeth had anticipated. It was fantastic to see her again, of course—the two were best friends in college, had even joined the CIA within months of each other. Rachel was an information analyst and something of a technical whiz, and provided Annabeth with a generous amount of help on particularly difficult assignments. When the ex-agent had been forced to leave the country to flee Zeus's vendetta, she'd resigned herself to the unfortunate truth that she would likely never see her best friend again. But mere hours ago that resolution had been cracked when Rachel had dropped back into her life unexpectedly, saving her from what would have been an uncomfortable and time-consuming encounter with the local authorities.

But as momentarily exhilarating as the reunion was, Annabeth's high was deflated upon hearing Rachel's account of her life since the two had parted ways. In the safety of one of the richest suites the Temple Grande Casino had to offer its patrons, the redhead admitted that she too no longer worked for the CIA. Apparently, things got tense at the agency after Annabeth defected and joined Olympus. The higher-ups cracked down on security and reporting (not that those were ever lax, but in order to prevent another disaster they became even tighter than before); mission logs were due an hour after return, work station history was reviewed daily, productivity was monitored with higher frequency—it became clear very quickly that after Annabeth, Kronos had abandoned even the small amount of trust he'd had in his employees.

And worse still, the search for the rogue agent went on beneath the surface of the agency's day-to-day operations—and Rachel, being close to Annabeth, was pulled in. They questioned her repeatedly and policed her activity on the agency database, digging for any information that could give the former assassin away. After a few months of relentless mistrust and investigation, Rachel decided she'd had enough. She quit the agency and moved out of Langley to her parents' summer home in Miami. Unfortunately for her, however, her former employers seemed to find this activity suspicious. She received a call at home requesting that she come in for one final interrogation. She refused, of course, but that wasn't the end of it—some days later, two police officers appeared at her residence with a warrant for her arrest. 'Aiding and abetting a criminal', they claimed the purpose to be. Knowing they would turn her directly over to the CIA, Rachel fled the officers and fell off the radar, developing herself a new identity and remaining on the move in order to evade the agency. As Elizabeth Vue, she found a temporary home in Las Vegas last autumn after taking a job as a waitress at a performance bar. Money being short, she attempted to reprogram a slot machine at the Temple Grande one night to award her a generous turnout. It worked, for a short while—until she was caught by the staff. It all worked out for the best though—while in questioning, she hit it off with Ian, only son of the casino manager, and he was able to get her off clean. She saw more of him over the ensuing months and in January she moved in with him.

It was from the condo they now shared that Rachel had answered the surprise call Annabeth had made to her the day before the ex-agent's return to the United States. Annabeth felt a swooping jolt in her stomach as she recalled the too-short conversation they'd shared—she'd once again asked Rachel's help in locating someone (as they talked, Rachel was interested to discover that the woman she'd helped Annabeth find was in the room, listening to the conversation; Reyna, expectedly, was less enthused with the discovery). Annabeth had been reluctant to contact Rachel at all that night, for her former friend's safety. But little did she know at the time that Rachel's life had already been turned upside down long before. It was somewhat ironic, she had to ruefully admit. And not only that, but the call had fulfilled exactly the fears she'd anticipated—Ian had confronted Rachel about it and she'd ended up telling him everything. Thankfully for them all, however, he'd agreed to keep her secret ("After a few hours of freaking out, of course," Rachel was sure to point out).

Hearing her friend's story made Annabeth feel terrible. All the turmoil Rachel had been through was because of her and what she did. She knew all along that there would be consequences—that turning on the CIA and helping the criminal organization they were pitted fiercely against would cause waves she had no hope of controlling. But what she hadn't counted on was Rachel taking so much of the backfire. She'd thought that in fleeing oversees without leaking her intentions to anyone would protect the friends and family she'd left behind. Apparently, though, that hadn't been entirely correct. Rachel had been pressed regardless, to the point where she'd been forced to change herself and her life just to keep her freedom. And all because she'd wanted to help out a friend. It just wasn't fair to her.

Despite how bad she felt, though, Annabeth knew rationally that there was little point in letting herself indulge in self-deprecating regret. Rachel had insisted that although things had been hectic for a while, she'd settled into her new life rather nicely, and she held no resentment toward Annabeth for what had happened. It was relieving to see the former analyst so relaxed and positive, and her assurances helped to breed a sort of acceptance in Annabeth's view of the situation. There wasn't much to be done now, after all. She knew that.

Even so, it was with a slightly heavy heart that she'd agreed to let Rachel help them in their attempt to track Atlas down. At first the redhead had wanted to pack up and go with them on their chase, but thankfully after Annabeth's fervent reminder that while a genius, Rachel was no field agent, and that she'd only endanger herself and the others if she joined, the former analyst conceded to logic and settled for some short-term technical assistance instead. Just recently she'd been able to hack the communication equipment they'd stolen from the fallen agents in the first floor restroom and do a reverse track of their last contact, which turned out to be from the radio of a standard Cessna light business jet. A trace of the jet's radio signal pinpointed its location (at the time, anyway) somewhere over southeastern Kentucky, before their own signal had been jammed by feedback.

This, more than anything else she'd learned that night, weighed heavily on Annabeth's mind. If Atlas had contacted his subordinates a few hours ago from halfway across the country, it meant one thing for Annabeth and her friends: they'd lost him. After all that time and work they'd spent on tracking him down—reading signs that barely existed, interrogating tight-lipped suspects, eating fast food and sleeping in their car or in empty apartments and seedy motels—all of it had been for nothing. Atlas had escaped. He was gone.

Which raised a very important question—what in the world were they supposed to do now?

Just then, a muffled _knock, knock_ tapped the outside of the door across the room and Annabeth jumped, turning away from the window against which she was leaning. "Come on in," she called to the perpetrator, hoping nervously for anyone but her martial artist friend. Reyna had gone to bed right after they'd successfully tracked Atlas's communication and Annabeth hadn't spoken to her since. And to be honest, she was a little afraid to.

Her wish was granted when the door opened to reveal Rachel, who'd abandoned her expensive-looking gown in favor of a worn pair of black yoga pants and a white tank top—much more the picture of the girl Annabeth had come to know in college.

"Hey, I figured you'd be awake," Rachel said with a small smile, her tone somber. She strode into the suite and closed the door behind her, before plopping down on the bed, crossing her legs, and fixing Annabeth with serious eyes. "Sorry for those bombs I kind of dropped on you earlier. Not the way I would've planned our tearful reunion to go, but I… figured you deserved the truth."

Annabeth shook her head and gave a forced half-smile. "No, I'm glad you told me," she assured Rachel. "And I'm glad you seem okay. I mean, you look like you're… doing well. It's nice to see. I'll admit, I've been kind of worried."

"Worried? About me?" Rachel tilted her head and smirked. "Don't be. I can take care of myself."

"I know you can," Annabeth admitted with a chuckle. "Actually, right now I'm more worried about… Well…"

"Atlas," Rachel finished for her.

Annabeth didn't respond right away. Her eyes traveled back to the window pane against her shoulder and peered through it at the street below, lit like a color wheel by the neon signs lining every building nearby. Outside, groups of people wandered the city, shouting and laughing despite the late hour. The rainbow lights and high energy in the middle of the night should have excited Annabeth—and if she were visiting under any different circumstances, they likely would have. But that night it felt like she was watching a movie, like an impassable screen existed between the enjoyment around her and the heavy truth that pressed against her mind.

"We were so close," she muttered wistfully, lifting a hand so her fingers trailed gently across the cool glass of the window. "We _had_ him, Rach. Another day and we would've had him. And now he's… he's gone." She tried to blink the sudden dampness from her eyes as she whispered, "What am I supposed to say to Reyna?"

"She knows you tried," Rachel replied, her voice quiet. "Things just… didn't work out. I'm sure she'll understand, in time."

"How can I expect her to?" Annabeth argued. "The only reason she and Leo ever got involved with this was because I came back—because _I_ needed help." She shook her head, memories flashing before her eyes and blocking the sight of the neon outside the window. " _I_ got him caught. _I_ ruined their lives. I owe it to them to make this right, but… now I don't know if I can."

"You just have to start again," Rachel suggested. "You tracked Atlas down once, didn't you? So do it again."

Annabeth chewed her bottom lip and tapped her fingernails on the windowsill. She'd been considering her options for hours, every minute since she'd learned of her former employer's whereabouts. But the more she'd wondered, the clearer the truth had become until now she knew it to be real—tracking Atlas down was no longer a necessity or a possibility. She knew where he was headed, and it was somewhere she couldn't follow.

"He's going back to Langley," she said grimly, turning back to look Rachel in the eye with an expression of regret.

Rachel's eyebrows drew together. "You think so?"

"He has to be. He's been traveling by car for weeks, moving around to specific locations, trying to stay under the radar. Then suddenly he hops a jet and flies straight across the country? Something must've happened—maybe Kronos called him back, I don't know. But whatever the reason, he's done playing cat-and-mouse with us." Annabeth released a sigh, her breath feeling thick on her tongue. She hated to admit it, but every word was the truth. "It's over. If Atlas has taken Leo back to headquarters, then… he's out of our reach."

"Is he, though?"

Annabeth looked up and fixed Rachel with a pointed look. "We don't work there anymore. I can't just walk in through the front door."

Rachel rolled her eyes, looking less somber now and more thoughtful. "Maybe not the _front_ door. But come on, Annabeth. They haven't exactly rebuilt the facility. It's the same building you and I worked in."

Annabeth frowned, feeling an inexplicable spark of energy in her chest. "So?"

"Do I have to spell it out for you?" Rachel asked dryly, arching an eyebrow. The corner of her lips ticking upward, she leaned forward and said, " _Break in_. You got the know-how. Use it."

"You're _not_ serious," Annabeth stammered, eyes widening. "You want me to break into a top-security government facility? What are you, insane?"

"If anyone could do it, it's a former agent," Rachel pointed out matter-of-factly with a shrug. "Especially one as good as you."

"Even if it were possible," Annabeth said in mild exasperation, "I'm sure every agent there is on the lookout for me. I'm like… CIA public enemy number one."

"Yeah, but they won't be expecting _you_ to come to _them_. You'd have the element of surprise!"

"And the element of lead in my skull as soon as that surprise wears off."

"Look, just stop being all negative and paranoid for a sec and play this logically." Rachel slid forward on the bed until her legs touched the floor and leaned her elbows on her thighs, the diplomatic expression on her face contrasting the excitement in her eyes. "When we worked there, what happened every other Monday night?"

"That was tech trash night, right?" Annabeth remembered. "Electronic waste removal."

"Exactly," Rachel agreed with a nod. "They came after normal hours and got in through waste storage on the west side of the building."

"And waste storage connects to the lower level," Annabeth added, reluctantly beginning to see her friend's point.

"I had to catalogue the scrap a few times during my first few months," Rachel went on, "so I've seen it happen. Nobody pays the trash guys any attention—they just come in, do their job, and get out. If, say, a couple fugitives were to steal their uniforms and equipment and show up at the scheduled time, I don't think anybody would notice. Not for a while, at least."

Annabeth stared at the floor, her mind grabbing hold of Rachel's idea and starting to race. What she was suggesting would be extremely dangerous—so much preparation would be required and any number of things could go wrong before or after their infiltration. But there was a chance—a small chance, but a chance nonetheless—that it could actually work. The possibility that this wasn't over cut through Annabeth's dismal mood like a bolt of lightning on a dark night—like the neon lights that brought life to the city outside her window. She could still keep her promise, could still fix what had been broken. It would be a gamble, but the prize was well worth the risk.

Slowly a tentative grin spread itself across Annabeth's face as she looked back up at Rachel, who was watching with barely-contained enthusiasm. "You _are_ insane," Annabeth told her friend, "and I've really missed that."

Rachel let out a bark of laughter she seemed to have been holding in. "So you're gonna do it?"

Annabeth took a deep, steadying breath, feeling oddly light-headed at the idea of going so recklessly on the offensive. She knew this wasn't a decision she could make on her own—until now, her hunt for Atlas had been a personal venture, but moving on CIA headquarters as a member of Olympus would be an act of war. She would need the organization's approval—and their help.

"I might," she answered steadily. "But not yet. First I need to go back home and talk to Percy. If this is gonna happen, he has to be in on it."

"Fair enough," Rachel agreed, turning up her palms. She looked unable to keep the smile from her face. "But try hard to convince him, okay? You can totally do this."

Annabeth chuckled and folded her arms. "You're way too excited about a job that's about seventy-five percent certain to get me killed."

"I'd say fifty-five percent," Rachel argued. "You always underestimate your skill level. Besides, I can't help imagining Atlas's face when he realizes his former star assassin snuck a prisoner out from right under his crooked nose."

"Hopefully I won't still be there to see it," Annabeth mused.

"True." Rachel stood up and stretched her arms. "I'll let you try and get some sleep now—you pretty obviously need it."

Annabeth smiled. "Thanks, Rachel. Really lucky break, me running into you here, huh?"

"I'll say. Where would you be without me?"

"An interrogation room, probably."

Rachel laughed, patting Annabeth on the shoulder. "You'll have to come back here once this whole CIA thing blows over. Let me show you how much fun you can _really_ have in Vegas."

"I'll hold you to that," Annabeth promised, before both women bid each other goodnight and Rachel left the room.

When silence fell again, Annabeth stepped away from the window and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, picking her cell phone up from the nightstand. The clock on the surface read 2:19 AM.

 _Almost four-thirty in Chicago,_ she pondered, tapping her chin in thought. _I wonder if he's awake…_

Deciding it was worth a try (if he didn't answer, she could always leave a message), she unlocked the screen and tapped the first name on her list of recent contacts, bringing the phone to her ear and lying back against the cushy pillows behind her with a breathy sigh. The low ringing sounded three times against her eardrum before a gravelly voice interrupted, "About time."

Despite the clear annoyance in her fiancé's tone, Annabeth couldn't help a small smile. "Sorry," she responded. "It's been a… busy couple days."

She heard Percy scoff wryly on the other line. "You can say that again."

Taking note of the scratchiness in his voice that matched hers a little too well, she noted, "I'm guessing you haven't been sleeping either?"

"Oh, I'm always up at five-thirty in the morning," he replied sarcastically. "This is when I sit around and wonder if my thrill-seeking fiancée is dead, in jail, or just can't remember how to work a phone. Where are you, anyway?"

"Las Vegas," Annabeth answered, brow creasing in an absent frown as she replayed the conversation and stopped on the word _five-thirty._ "Where are _you?"_

"…New York," Percy answered after a beat of silence.

"New York?" she repeated, hoping nothing serious had come up back home while she'd been away. "Why? On Sunday you told me you wouldn't be leaving the office for at least another few weeks."

She heard him sigh—the deep, beleaguered sigh of someone whose mind and body were heavily laden with exhaustion. She knew it well; it was a sound she'd uttered more than once since she'd left home six weeks ago. Somehow, it made her heart ache—it had been too long; suddenly all she wanted was to see him.

"I think…" Percy finally said in a weak sort of voice as, lonely, Annabeth sat up straight and hugged an arm around her stomach, "we both have a couple stories to tell."

* * *

 **Let's all cross our fingers that the next one doesn't take as long. I hate when I can't find time to write.**

 **Later days!**

 **-oMM**


	8. Ally

**Hi, gang! Happy Hump Day. Nice long chapter for you today.**

 **Thanks as always for reading. Enjoy!**

* * *

Hey _young_ **blood** / Doesn't it feel like our **time** is _running out?_  
I'm gonna **change** you like a _remix_ / Then I'll _raise_ you like a **phoenix**

* * *

Percy was worried.

That wasn't anything new, of course. He'd spent a debilitating amount of time lately dwelling on problems and fears, letting them exhaust his brainpower to the extent that few other emotions were physically possible anymore. But this time was different.

It was true that he'd been waiting to hear from Annabeth, but now that she'd finally called he had to admit part of him wished she hadn't. At least not _that_ morning, early in what would turn out a very important day for the success of the organization's crusade against the CIA. Her news wasn't good—none of her team had been hurt, which was heartening, but they'd lost Duke Atlas's trail. She suspected he was headed back to CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia, which was distressing enough. Percy was further alarmed, though, to hear that she didn't intend to give up the chase yet—for whatever reason, she had it in her head that the next logical thing to do would be to break into CIA HQ.

For a second, he'd thought she'd completely lost touch with reality. He was all for a chance for revenge against Kronos's organization—especially with his father's condition still looming over his head like a storm cloud—but as Grover had said, an immediate counterattack would likely only end in disaster. Still, Annabeth had promised that she had something of a plan, and judging by her tone of voice she'd sounded completely sane when she'd said it. Thankfully, she seemed to have already decided not to head off without first coming home and discussing the operation, which did provide some consolation. She, Piper, and Reyna were flying into Chicago to meet with him that afternoon.

Unfortunately for his nerves, however, theirs wasn't his only meeting that day—wasn't even his first. No, before he could hear how plausible or life-threatening Annabeth's plan was, he had to try not to dwell on it while he met with Jason Sharpe, the man who was apparently trying to overthrow him from within the organization. On the one hand, it was a good sign that Sharpe had agreed to see him so quickly. On the other, it would've been nice to clear things up with Annabeth before focusing on internal problems.

A knock on the door of Percy's borrowed office in Chicago jolted him out of his absent reverie and brought his focus speeding back to the present. He stood from where he'd been leaning on the edge of his desk and straightened the tie beneath his shirt collar, feeling rather strangled by both fabric and nerves.

 _One thing at a time,_ he repeated firmly to himself as he steeled his expression, walked across the room, and pulled open the door.

Waiting in the hall was a trio of men in business suits, all with rigid posture and even more rigid facial features. Their ages spanned what looked like three fully separate generations—the one in the middle was about Percy's age; the rightmost appeared to be middle-aged, maybe mid-forties; and the leftmost had to be at least sixty-five years old. The immediate effect was a little strange.

"Percy Jackson?" the middle man greeted him in a tone perfectly light and emotionless. He extended a steady hand and offered his name in return: "Jason Sharpe."

"Nice to meet you," Percy replied, matching his visitor's empty inflection and accepting his proffered handshake while taking quick and careful note of his appearance. Sharpe was maybe two inches taller than he was (an observation which he tried not to expend irritation on) and noticeably broader-shouldered, with square, angular facial lines, a clean-shaven jaw, naturally-highlighted blond hair cut short and neat, and calculative, wide-set eyes so bright blue they barely appeared real. Somehow, the guy looked more like a cover shot of GQ than a potential crime lord, which helped to dull the threat of his supposed claim a considerable amount.

Percy stepped sideways to clear the doorway and said politely, "Come on in."

The oldest man started forward but was barred at once by the arm his boss held out before him.

"You two wait out here," Sharpe ordered his companions calmly.

The elder on his right frowned and protested, "But sir, we're—"

"—Not part of this discussion," Sharpe interrupted, sparing the man a sideways glance. "It won't take long. There was a sitting room down the hall—go relax for a bit."

The two men exchanged disgruntled glances behind their superior's back, but neither challenged their instructions. Percy felt a slight frown twitch his features as United's CFO strode past him into the office, and as he closed the door on the two silent men he took note of the warning bells sounding in his head. That had certainly been unusual.

The surprises weren't quite done, though. He turned to face his visitor and opened his mouth, but Sharpe silenced him by holding up a hand, blue eyes staring past him at the closed office door. Perturbed, Percy followed his gaze with narrowed eyes. What was up with this guy?

When the sound of footsteps had retreated down the hall, Sharpe released his breath in an aggravated sort of sigh and dropped his shoulders, his pin-straight posture drooping instantaneously. "Sorry about that," he said, and Percy was slightly taken aback by how different his voice suddenly sounded—tired and dry, no longer light and stoic. "I told them I didn't need an escort, but for a warmongering support team they can't listen worth a damn."

"Uh…" Percy muttered blankly, unable to think of a better response. His first impression of his challenger had suggested that this would be a no-nonsense, all-business kind of meeting. Had that just been an act? Or was this the act? Was this guy trying to trick him?

When Sharpe reached up to unbutton his suit jacket, Percy's mind snapped back to attention. If the guy was looking for a fight, he wasn't about to let himself be caught off guard. Stepping sideways across the office toward his desk—which had a firearm stashed in the middle right drawer—he said, "Look, Mr. Sharpe, you and me—"

"Jason," the other cut him off, rolling his eyes. "I'm sick of hearing 'Mr. Sharpe'."

Percy had reached his desk, but rather than step around it he froze, staring at his visitor. "Jason," he corrected himself uncertainly. The guy had removed his suit jacket, but beneath it he wore no weapon holster, and his arms didn't seem tensed to start throwing punches. Percy breathed out shortly in mild irritation and asked pointedly, "What exactly is this?"

Jason paused in the action of folding his jacket over his arm and looked up with a frown, probably sensing the suspicion in Percy's voice. The two locked eyes for a long and silent few seconds before Jason nodded and said, "Okay, first of all… I owe you an apology."

Percy blinked. "What?"

"This whole 'secret uprising' thing was _not_ my idea," Jason explained without pretext. So they were skipping formalities, heading right to the matter at hand. Why not? "I didn't even know the company board was trying to gather external support until just recently."

"Wait… What?" Percy repeated, successfully caught off guard despite his determination to avoid being so. It was technically true that Brunner had spoken of being approached by one of the CFO's subordinates rather than the man himself, but logically Percy had assumed the order to do so had come direct.

"I don't mean to be blunt, I just want to get this cleared up as soon as possible. The truth is, they went behind my back with this and lied to people about it," Jason went on, an edge of residual frustration hardening his voice and creasing his brow. "Trust me or not, but if it'd been up to me, this wouldn't be happening. Especially not now."

Percy rotated his jaw in thought, unsure whether or not to believe the stranger. "So… Zeke _didn't_ name you his personal heir."

Jason tilted his head to the side, lifting a shoulder. "I didn't say that," he replied with an air of reluctance. Percy raised his eyebrows expectantly and Jason added, "It's kind of a long story. That part is true enough, though."

Percy folded his arms. "I've got time. Let's hear it."

"Alright, if you say so." Jason set his jacket on the edge of Percy's desk before diving into an account of his history with the former Don of Olympus.

Jason Sharpe had first met Ezekiel Grace his senior year of college, when he'd interned at United Airways for a semester and a half as a floating personal executive assistant. During that time, he'd accompanied the top brass on various meetings and business trips, becoming very familiar with the company's inner workings. He'd been ignorant of their criminal side, however, until graduation and the subsequent end of his internship, when Zeke had personally met with him and offered him a choice. He could take the glowing recommendation the CEO had written him and leave in search of a different job, or he could stay at United and become a full-time employee. The only stipulation—he would have to stay for life. Zeke didn't tell him why, but he promised a high-level position and a starting pay grade that would make any first-year graduate's head spin. He saw potential in the intern, he'd said, and he had a mind to see more fully what he could bring to the company. After a few days of thinking it over, Jason had decided to remain with United, and Zeke had rewarded him with not only an executive title and a six-figure salary, but also the startling news that he'd just become a member of the country's largest organized crime syndicate.

It had taken Jason some time to accept this information. He'd come from a rather strict background—his parents had been wealthy, societal types who believed in a strong upbringing, which resulted in his spending most of his childhood in a boarding school hundreds of miles from their home in San Francisco. All throughout that time he'd been surrounded by people who operated under the principle that a single toe out of line was grounds for immediate disciplinary action, sometimes on extreme levels. He'd been orphaned at age eighteen when a car accident had claimed the lives of both his parents, and suddenly being forced to make his own way in life had only stressed harder upon him the need for success. All his life, he'd worked hard to keep his record and his reputation spotless—he hadn't even a parking ticket to his name. And yet somehow his tireless work ethic had resulted in his getting hired by the most influential crime lord in the United States. Despite any misgivings, though, he'd made a promise to Zeke—an agreement to remain with the company for life. He knew there'd be no getting out of it, not unless he wanted all of Olympus coming after him. So all he had left to do was accept it.

And accept it he had. He'd quickly learned that there was a lot more to organized crime than the actual _crime_. It was a business, just like United Air, just like any other legitimate corporation. And business was something he was good at, something he understood. He worked closely with Zeke and the other executives over the next couple of years, even being promoted to chief financial officer at Zeke's personal request. It became clear that the oldest Grace brother had taken a liking to his new recruit, which both surprised and pleased Jason.

The real surprise, however, came last July, when Zeke had scheduled a private meeting with Jason to convey his intentions to legally claim him as his son and heir. He'd explained about his daughter Thalia, how she'd abandoned the family and left him without a successor as organization head. He stressed that he wanted someone he could trust to take his place, with only brief mention of other family members who were eligible for the spot. Honored that Zeke thought him seriously capable of running the organization (and expecting it to be some time before the position would actually be his), Jason had agreed, and all the legal work was done that same summer. He was instructed to keep his own last name for the time being, but for all intents and purposes, Jason was a true member of the Grace family.

"He wanted to keep the whole thing secret for a while," he summed up, eyeing Percy with a tentative sort of gaze. "I think in part because of you."

"Me?" Percy repeated, startled at the conversation's turn back to him.

"You had a better claim than I ever could have—blood relative, and all. I think his plan was to get you out of the picture first, then go public with me. Guess that didn't exactly go the way he wanted it to. Thing is, a lot of his guys already know, and they aren't happy with what you and that ex-CIA agent did. They think whoever takes over for Zeke should be someone he actually chose, not someone who helped take him out."

"He tried to kill me first," Percy pointed out defensively.

Jason held up his hands. "I know. I didn't say I agree with them." Running a hand over his short hair, he said, "Look, I'm sorry this all came out of nowhere. I always thought it was weird that I never got to meet Zeke's brothers, with how much he told me about the organization and how involved he kept me with everything going on. But I never understood why until he sent those assassins after you. He was scared."

"Scared?" Percy scoffed. "Zeke?"

"Maybe 'paranoid' is a better word. I think he was worried you'd try to get rid of me like you did Thalia and your other cousins."

Percy balled his hands into fists, a white-hot streak of anger suddenly spiking inside him. He was sick and tired of being blamed for what happened to the people he loved.

"None of that was my fault," he growled. "Thalia wanted to leave. My brother was an accident. The CIA killed Bianca and Nico. The only reason I ever went after Zeke was because he killed and threatened people I care about. I turned on him because he turned on me. That's it."

"I've heard the facts, I know," Jason insisted. "I wasn't about to argue the issue with Zeke, as you can imagine, but that didn't mean I just took everything he said. Granted, it _was_ a little suspicious when you did show up with the CIA to take him out."

"We didn't know they were gonna be there. That was just as bad for us as it was for him. They almost killed us—they nabbed a friend of ours, for God's sake, and are doing who-knows-what to him now. My fiancée's been gone for weeks trying to track 'em down."

"That's… the former agent, right?"

"Yeah."

"If you don't mind my asking… What's the story with you two?"

Percy considered brushing the matter off, but having heard Jason's explanation, he realized it wouldn't exactly be fair for him to hold things back. So instead he told Jason the truth—how Annabeth was the daughter of Zeke's former head expansion engineer and had joined the CIA in an effort to clear her muddied family name. He recounted how she'd been sent on a rushed and top-secret mission by her agency superiors to kill him, and how things hadn't gone at all as intended from then on.

"My dad warned me that Zeke was gonna try something," he recalled, "so we left the country rather than stand and fight him. We hoped that would be the end of it, you know? That he'd just keep on doing his thing and let us be. But he didn't. He tried to kill me, and while I was stuck in the hospital Annabeth and Thalia came back to get revenge. I wanted to stop them at first, but… I ended up helping them instead. I know I probably should've tried harder. What we did wasn't right. But Zeke was… he was poison to the family. He was trying to start a civil war."

Jason winced like he'd been poked with a needle. "I know," he admitted.

Percy shook his head. "I couldn't let that happen. That's why I did what I did. And… I thought it'd be over after that, after he was dead. But then you showed up."

"A civil war is _not_ what I want here," Jason asserted. "Not in the middle of this war with Kronos. That's why I was glad you called this morning. I've been trying to keep things quiet like before, but I realized maybe it was actually more dangerous that way. Better to talk to you myself and get everything out in the open. Percy, whatever you heard, I… I _don't_ want to overthrow you. Not like this."

Percy studied Jason's expression critically, but he found no indication that the CFO was lying. "You're serious."

"Heart-attack serious," Jason promised, raising a hand for effect. "I don't know the full extent of what's happening with the CIA—Zeke's brothers don't know about me, after all, so it's not like they've been keeping me in the loop—but I know things are getting rough and I want to help out any way I can. You and me are legally cousins, after all, so…"

"We're family." Percy frowned, the words somehow feeling strange on his tongue. Rationally he wanted to remain skeptical, but some gut feeling was telling him to believe in this guy. And if he was honest, he actually needed a bit of trustworthy help at the moment. He'd been so careful lately, and all it was doing was stressing him out. Maybe he needed to take a leap of faith this time.

"I understand if you don't trust me—"

"No," Percy interrupted Jason, holding out a hand in a placating gesture. "I mean… Thanks. For… telling me everything. I'm not trying to be rude or anything, sorry if it's coming off that way. I'm just… I have a lot to deal with right now. To tell the truth, I could really use a business expert."

A smile tugged at the corner of Jason's mouth. "You've got one," he said. "Just let me know what I can do."

Percy returned the smile, but before he could answer another knock on the door drew both of their attentions. The intruder didn't wait for a reply, pushing the door open immediately following the short knock.

"Annabeth," Percy said in surprise, recognizing his fiancée easily—despite the fact that her usually-blonde hair was now dark brown.

"Hey," she said with a warm smile as she stepped into the office. She froze a few steps later though, gaze traveling to Jason. "Oh—sorry. Are we interrupting?"

"No, come in," Percy replied, taking note of Piper and Reyna behind her. "I just didn't expect you to be early."

"We're not early," Piper argued, checking her cell phone. "We said four, right? It's like ten after."

"What—it is?" Percy glanced at Jason, unaware that they'd been talking for so long. Jason shrugged.

"We can come back," Annabeth suggested, though the look in her eyes was reluctant.

"No, it's okay," Percy decided without much thought. It was already taking a high amount of his willpower to keep from crossing the office and throwing his arms around Annabeth—he didn't think he'd be able to tell her to leave if he tried. "This is Jason Sharpe, he works for United. Jason, meet Annabeth Chase, Piper McLean, and Reyna Ramírez-Arellano. They're the ones who've been tracking Deputy Director Atlas and our man he has in custody."

"So you're Annabeth Chase," Jason said as he shook hands with all three women in turn. "It's nice to finally meet you."

"Um… thanks," Annabeth responded with an awkward sort of smile. "You know me… how?"

"Zeke talked about you. Not really in the nicest way, but… I got the general picture."

Annabeth took a step back from Jason, possibly remembering her few encounters with Ezekiel Grace—including the time she'd emptied a magazine of nine-millimeter rounds in his chest and knocked him out an eighty-story window. "You were… close to Zeke?"

"You could say that."

"He's Zeke's adopted son and heir," Percy elaborated.

" _What?_ " Annabeth stammered in surprise as beside her Piper whistled in appreciation, kaleidoscopic eyes glancing Jason up and down. "I thought Thalia was his only heir."

"So did I, until a little while ago."

"How—?"

"I'll explain later," Percy promised. "Right now, you're the one with explaining to do."

Jason grabbed his jacket and said, "Guess I'd better get going and let you guys catch up."

"Actually," Percy stopped him before he could go, "why don't you stay? Tell me if this idea she's got really is crazy or if I'm just overreacting."

Annabeth shot him a pointed look as though silently scolding, _You ARE overreacting._ He ignored her.

"Okay," Jason agreed, again setting down his jacket and leaning against the desk. "So what's going on?"

Annabeth glanced inquisitively at Percy, who told her, "It's okay, you can trust him." She surveyed his expression for a second, apparently concluding that he meant what he was saying—which, surprisingly, he did. He'd decided to go with his gut feeling, the one telling him that this guy was dependable despite his relationship with the former codename Zeus. It was possible he was making a dangerous mistake, but things were already a mess. An important new ally within the upper echelon of Olympus was worth whatever risk he was taking in trusting him.

So Annabeth re-told an abridged version of her story to bring Jason up to speed—how Reyna's boyfriend had been taken in by the CIA during their assault on the Willis Tower and how the three of them had been following Atlas across the country in an effort to get their friend back. She recounted how they'd lost Atlas in Las Vegas when he'd suddenly changed course, and how a friend had helped her track his last location.

"I think he's gone back to HQ in Langley," she said confidently, in a way that suggested she was actually quite sure. To Jason, she went on, "The guy we're trying to rescue isn't just a friend, he's a valuable ally. We couldn't have ever gotten to Zeke without him. You tell me—what's the next logical course of action here?"

Jason frowned thoughtfully, studying the carpet. "I guess the next logical thing to do would be to sneak in and break him out."

"Ha!" Piper laughed, pumping a fist in the air. She'd strode around Percy's desk during Annabeth's story and was now lounging in his chair with her feet on his desk. "That's one more point for Operation Infiltration. I knew you were the brilliant-but-daring type the second I saw you." She winked at Jason, who blinked uncertainly and offered an awkward smile.

Annabeth turned to give Percy a triumphant smirk and he rolled his eyes. "Alright, alright," he conceded. "You win. I just wish there was a way to make sure he's there before we risk this."

"I can take care of that," Jason suggested, surprising everyone at once. In answer to the four questioning glances he received, he explained, "I've got a man inside the agency. After Zeke died and I took over as acting CEO, I figured it'd be safer to keep in touch with what they're doing. I can send word and find out in the next couple days if your guy's there."

Piper raised her eyebrows. "Agreeable _and_ handy."

"Have I mentioned how glad I am we're on the same side?" Percy said with a grin.

"Wait, if you're doing that," Annabeth cut in, "could you check on something else for us ahead of time? We need to know when the next tech trash day is."

"Why?" Percy asked her.

But she brushed it off for the time being. "It's part of the plan. I'll tell you later."

"Sure thing," Jason promised. "I have a check-in with the guy later tonight. I'll pass all this on. Okay if I give him your number?" he asked Percy. "For backup, in case he can't reach me when he finds out."

Percy nodded. "Of course. Thanks, Jason. For meeting with me, and for your help."

This time when Jason picked up his jacket and prepared to head out, Percy didn't stop him. "No problem. We're all in this war together, after all. I'll be in touch."

"You'd better be," Piper responded as Jason let himself out of the office. When Annabeth arched an eyebrow at her, she shrugged and said, "What? He's hot. Hey, Perce, if you need like a personal liaison between you and him—"

"I'll let you know," Percy told her dryly. "For now, though, don't you have other people to be catching up with?"

Piper smirked, dropping her feet to the floor. "Sure, sure, I can sense when I'm not wanted. Come on, Reyna. Let's leave Bonnie and Clyde to get _reacquainted_." She grabbed the conspicuously-silent Reyna by the arm and led the way out of the office, finally leaving Percy alone with the fiancée he hadn't seen in over six weeks.

"Man," he observed as he watched them go. "One talks too much, one doesn't talk enough. I don't know how you stayed sane the past two months."

Annabeth laughed, her stormy gray eyes sparkling as she stepped up to Percy and gently pushed him backward against the edge of his desk. "Speaking of talking too much," she said, fingers pulling at his tie as she leaned comfortably into him. He felt an unconscious smile stretch his lips at the sight of her eyes so close to his and, sliding his arms around her waist, he leaned down and kissed her, slow and soft, taking in her presence and letting it fill the void her absence had left in his heart. Her right hand crept up to brush his jaw as she tilted her head and pressed her lips against his, making his skin tingle with warmth.

When they separated, he touched his forehead to hers, watching as she bit her bottom lip and kept her eyes closed, breathing out slowly. "I missed you," she murmured in a low, breathy voice. He felt his brow crease as he took note of the slight waver in her tone—a tiny hint of worry, possibly even fear. Part of him thought that was silly—he wasn't the one on a dangerous hunt for one of the CIA's most notorious agents. Why had she been worried?

"I missed you too," was all he said in response, pulling her into a tight hug. She buried her face in his shoulder, arms twisting around his back, and he realized then how tense her muscles were. He brushed a hand soothingly through her tangled hair, glad she couldn't see his troubled expression.

"I like the brunette look," Percy said in a weak effort to lighten the mood a little.

"Don't lie," Annabeth grunted into his shoulder.

"Alright, fine. I miss the blonde. But you're killer gorgeous no matter what, so I wouldn't worry too much."

She gave a muffled chuckle and he smiled in satisfaction. After a long minute of silence during which Percy was content to listen to Annabeth breathe and feel her body slowly relax against his, she whispered, "We're really gonna do this, aren't we? I'm really going back."

Percy felt a lump form in his throat at the thickness in her voice. "You can always call it off," he suggested.

"No, I can't. I have to make this right. I promised."

He knew better than to argue. He'd made promises of his own in the past, and the steel determination to keep them was something he and his fiancée had in common.

"You aren't going alone this time," he said instead.

"I wasn't alone last time," she pointed out, still addressing his suit jacket.

"You know what I mean. You aren't going without me."

Finally she pulled backward, standing upright and glancing up at him in apprehension. Her gray eyes were damp and glassy, the watery sheen making them shine like aluminum. "Are you sure that's a good idea? You're the head of Olympus."

Percy cringed. "Don't remind me."

"I just mean… They want you as badly as they want me. If things go wrong, we'll both be turning ourselves over to Kronos. And we're…" Her sentence trailed off and she shook her head. A slight stitch had tightened her brow at the mention of Kronos's name, so subtle Percy probably wouldn't have noticed had they not been standing so close. She must have been more afraid of the Director than he'd realized.

"Don't care," he replied firmly, confidently. "If you're going, I'm going. We're better together, and you know it."

A tiny smile seemed to pull unconsciously at her lips, but it tilted sideways to a frown as she searched his eyes. "There's something else," she observed, cocking her head just barely to the left.

Percy felt his muscles tense. She was right, of course. Though he wasn't thinking of it directly at the time, he _did_ have another reason for insisting upon inclusion in the trip to CIA headquarters. He wasn't going to bring it up, but now that she was suspicious the last thing he wanted to do was lie.

Feeling the tendons in his jaw tighten uncomfortably, he admitted, "…I owe them."

A wash of sadness passed over Annabeth's expression. "You mean for your dad," she realized. "Percy…"

"Don't give me that look," he warned. "I'm not a kid, Annabeth, I know how dangerous this is. I'm not going just so I can gun down a few CIA dogs—not that I'd shy away from the opportunity." Her look hardened pointedly and he insisted quickly, "Don't worry. My head's in the game, I swear."

She breathed a deep sigh, wrapping her arms more tightly around his waist. The edge vanishing from her voice, she asked softly, "How is he?"

"Stable," he replied, a hand tightly gripping his heart at the thought of his father, lying helplessly in a hospital bed back in New York. "At least he was a few hours ago when I talked to Lee. …He still hasn't woken up yet."

"He will," she said, sounding so sure that Percy almost took it as a statement of fact. "Just give it time."

"Yeah. Because I've got so much of that to spare nowadays."

Annabeth smiled, some mirth returning to her stormy eyes. She retracted her arms and again reached for his tie, this time pulling the knot loose. "I know something we can do to take your mind off things."

Percy's eyebrows jumped. "I could definitely use a little distraction."

"Lucky for you," Annabeth went on as she unfastened the top two buttons of his shirt and slid a hand under his collar to curl around the base of his neck, "I can be very distracting." To prove her point, she tightened her grip and pulled him into another kiss, this one noticeably more forceful than the last. Her tongue pushed through his lips and effectively drove all unpleasant thoughts and doubts from his mind, monopolizing his focus. Her hands shoved his jacket from his shoulders and he let it drop to the floor before blindly tearing off her coat and cinching up the hem of her cotton shirt to touch the skin of her back and waist as she wrapped her right leg around his left in an effort to press herself more tightly against him.

 _Man_ , was he glad she was back.

A small voice in the back of his mind reminded him that the door was still unlocked and someone could walk in at any second, but he didn't dwell on it. After all, since when had either of them been the type to shy away from danger? If Annabeth was worried she too didn't let it on. Her teeth snapped at his bottom lip as her fingers swiftly unhooked the rest of his shirt buttons and he tucked his hands beneath the waistband of her black jeans, tilting his head and leaning forward so his tongue battled hers with increased aggression. He used his grip on her jeans to pull her hips even closer and felt more than heard her groan against his mouth as her fingernails dug into the center of his chest.

She'd been right—some distraction really was what he needed most in the midst of so much worry and stress. Percy's last sane, conscious thought as Annabeth yanked his shirt from his shoulders was that the two of them were never going to spend so long apart ever again. Not after everything they'd been through, how close they'd come to losing each other.

From then on, whatever they had to do they would do together, as a team. He would make sure of it.

* * *

 **I think they really are together for the rest of this book, haha. Novel concept, I know.**

 **So hey look, I found a way to work Jason in like some of you guys wondered before! Hazel will show up later too, but he was the one I was more worried about given that we already killed Zeus. Hopefully it doesn't seem too forced, even though I'll admit it kind of was, haha.**

 **Anyway, how about a review? Ugh I can't wait until we get to the action... Chapter 10 is the next action chapter, that's when they infiltrate CIA HQ. Gonna be a fun time, haha. Next chapter has the return of some fun characters from Fire at Will, though, so there's that.**

 **Later days!**

 **-oMM**

 **(Total side-note, anybody read Sword of Summer yet? Any thoughts? I loved it, personally. Read it way too fast, lol. Makes having to wait a whole dang year for Hammer of Thor pretty daunting :P )**


	9. Life

**Yo. Still plugging through the slow stretch here. Thanks as always, those of you who reviewed last week!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Wearing our vintage _misery_ / No, I think it looked a little **better** on me  
I'm gonna **change** you like a _remix_ / Then I'll _raise_ you like a **phoenix**

* * *

Annabeth had forgotten how much she liked the Grapevine.

The nightclub in Williamsburg, Brooklyn wasn't anything that special. The barroom was small and hot, usually filled with a high-decibel cacophony of voices and droning music. Neon violet lights along the walls and ceiling provided dim mood lighting, and the smell of fried food drifted continuously from the kitchen. But the atmosphere was inexplicably comfortable. With an odd fondness Annabeth was reminded of the time she'd spent there a year and a half ago, while still employed by the CIA on her mission to eliminate Olympus's eldest heir. She remembered the first time she'd visited the Grapevine, where her then-target-now-fiancé had worked at the time, and how she'd wished she could be the type of person who spent her weekends going out drinking and dancing with friends. It was strange to think that that life was now entirely possible for her. Assuming she made it out of the Olympus-CIA war, of course.

It had been Percy's friend Grover who suggested they stop by the club upon their return to New York on Sunday. They'd come back owing to Percy's desire not to be too far from his dad, whose condition was still in flux, but Annabeth was secretly glad when Grover had told him outright that sitting around the Marten complex worrying would do no good for anyone—that he needed to go out and try to relax a little. After their phone conversation and the short amount of time they'd been able to spend together in the past day, Annabeth had realized how critically agitated Percy had become. Their situation was hard on him—harder than on anyone else involved, probably—and she hated seeing him so worn out. Especially when she knew they had innumerable more difficulties to come as they took on Kronos and Atlas. A little time away from the tense environment of the Marten's medical facility would hopefully do them both some good.

So she'd convinced him to take up Grover's offer and pay the Grapevine a visit. Apparently it was still a common haunt for Olympus's younger members (despite the fact that Annabeth had almost gotten its owner, Damien Fresch, killed the last time she was in New York; she was told they'd drastically increased organization security at the club since then), and she thought it might be fun to catch up with some of Percy's other family and friends. She'd even invited Piper and Reyna along, and they'd both agreed (well, Piper had agreed; Reyna they had to force on pretext that getting out to clear her head would be good for her as well).

The club was almost exactly the same as Annabeth remembered. It wasn't overly crowded, being a Sunday evening, and the five of them were able to get seats at the bar without much difficulty. The place was still far from empty, however, and it was a good ten minutes or so before they were approached by a bartender—a bartender Annabeth was surprised and pleased to realize that she recognized.

"Hey, guys, what can I—aw, no _way!_ " the bartender—a tall, lanky young man with shaggy brown hair—said as he hurried up to them. He leaned forward across the bar as though trying to get a closer look, dark blue eyes widening. "Damn, I didn't think I'd _ever_ see you guys again!"

"Surprise," Percy said, laughing and holding out his arms. "What up, Travis, how you been?"

Travis Stoll, long-time member of Olympus and son of the organization's head of communication and transit, gripped Percy's hand in greeting, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Can't complain. Well, I can, but Fresch would fire me. Honestly though, things've been kind of weird since you guys up and jetted. Good to see you're still kicking."

"Barely," Annabeth admitted with a wry smile. "How's your brother?"

"He's good—around here somewhere." He leaned backward, craning his neck to look down the room to his left. "Hey, Connor! Come see who finally decided to drop in!"

A few seconds later, Travis's brother Connor—who was almost identical to him, save for a few extra freckles on the bridge of his nose and maybe an inch less height—appeared around the crowd. He too was dressed in the club's standard bartender uniform.

As he smiled and greeted them with equal enthusiasm, Annabeth felt an unexpected chill wind down her spine as she remembered the last time she'd seen the Stoll brothers—the night she, Percy, Travis, and a few other members of Olympus had rescued Connor and their father Harrison from CIA custody in an empty apartment building in Manhattan. Not one of her more joyous memories.

Pushing it aside, Annabeth helped introduce the brothers and Reyna. When that was out of the way, Connor leaned both arms on the bar and said with a smirk, "So, Percy, hear you're sittin' pretty on old Zeus's cloud nowadays. Central head, huh?"

"I don't know if I'd say 'sitting pretty'," Percy replied skeptically, "but yeah. After what happened to Zeke, I was next in line so the job kind of fell on me."

Travis's grin turned to a scowl and he lowered his voice. "Man, can you believe this whole 'war' business? I mean, sure the CIA's been after us a while, but whatever happened to needing evidence to start something?"

"I'd look out if I were you, man," Connor said to Percy. "First they take out Zeke, then they go after your dad… Harley's scary good at keeping under the radar—especially considering his business—but word of you taking over is bound to have gotten around. If Kronos is zeroing in on our leaders, there's a good chance you'll be next."

As Percy responded with a weary, "I know, it's kind of a mess," Annabeth thought back on the day following their assault on the Willis Tower. Parker and Harley Grace had informed them that the official story they'd leaked through the organization was that Zeke had been killed by Atlas and his strike team, rather than by Annabeth and Percy. She was grateful that the story seemed to have held—the last thing she wanted to do was be the person who turned Olympus's members against each other.

"Is Damien here tonight?" Percy asked the brothers. "I need to talk with him. I think he's avoiding my calls."

"He's in the back." Travis jerked his head in the direction of the kitchen door. "Come on around."

Percy slid off his stool and touched Annabeth's arm. "Wait here?"

"Yeah," she agreed. "I… doubt he'll be too crazy to see me."

"Safe bet."

Grover accompanied Percy as he retreated into the crowd. Travis and Connor had to separate from the group then as well and get back to work, which left Annabeth alone with Piper and Reyna. For a short time, anyway, as Piper got up not five minutes later to mingle with some people she recognized across the room.

"Thanks for coming out," Annabeth said to Reyna once Travis had delivered drinks to the two of them and disappeared again. "I know you haven't been feeling very social lately."

"Can you blame me?" Reyna snapped, making Annabeth flinch. The older woman seemed to notice immediately that her voice had contained more harsh edge than she'd meant it to, and she relented in a softer tone, "I'm sorry, I'm trying not to dwell on it too much. It's just… we were _so close_. I could feel it. And now it's like I lost him all over again." She sighed, dark eyes staring into her rocks glass. "Forget it, though, we're not here to talk about that."

"No, it's okay." Annabeth twisted on her seat to better face her friend. "Let's talk about it. Maybe getting mad will help us prepare for what we're gonna do."

Reyna looked sideways at her as she took a sip of her drink. "Never sat in on a traditional karate class, have you?"

Annabeth chuckled. "No, the whole 'inner tranquility' thing has always been sort of lost on me. Come on, you never know. Emotion can be a powerful thing."

Reyna's hand drifted absently to her jacket pocket, eyes growing distant. When she only shook her head and remained silent, Annabeth considered a different approach. Her gaze rose and trailed along the nearest neon light bar, memory flashing back to her last time in New York City.

"When I first came to this bar," she recalled conversationally, "it was for a fake date with Percy. I was still undercover at the time, working for the CIA, so I had to act all drunk and flirty to trick him into taking me home."

Reyna scoffed. "You, drunk and flirty?"

"It was a little ridiculous, I'll admit," Annabeth said as Reyna laughed. "Not one of my better moments. I made a hell of an impression on the heir to Olympus's west coast division, I'll tell you that."

"Who?" Reyna asked with an interested frown.

"You wouldn't know him," Annabeth answered, keeping her voice light despite the sudden tightness in her chest and throat. "Percy's cousin, guy named Nico. He was a little scary when I first met him—really serious, brooding type. All tattoos and dark clothing. Plus it was pretty obvious he thought I was an idiot that first night, so… needless to say we weren't exactly fast friends. But… that changed during the time I spent here. He ended up helping me make the decision to leave the CIA. To give up on getting revenge for my mother. It was funny… I'd spent so many years thinking Olympus was just… comic-book bad guys and creeps who loved bloodshed. But Nico made me see that… they were human, just like me. Hell, _more_ human than I was at the time. One conversation I had with him changed my whole view on things. I even started to really think of him as a friend, even though he was one of the criminals I'd always hated. …Until later that same night, when I watched him die."

Reyna's brow creased in a frown, her gaze dropping. When she didn't interject, Annabeth went on, "It was my fault it happened. I'd been playing both sides at the time, stubbornly refusing to make a choice between my job and the man I was falling in love with. I wanted to have it all—love _and_ revenge. I didn't see the danger I was putting everyone in until it was too late. Percy and Nico had been really close—like brothers, he told me. He was devastated, furious with me. And he had every right to be. I'd taken something from him—something so important—something he could never get back. And it felt terrible. …I almost lost him that night. For a while, part of me even thought I deserved to. He was more understanding than I ever could've expected him to be. I was… really lucky."

Reyna gripped her glass in both hands, looking somber. "Why are you telling me this?"

Annabeth took a deep breath to steady her erratic heartbeat and placed a hand on Reyna's forearm. "Because I want you to understand when I say I know how it feels to be the reason someone else's loved one gets taken away from them. It may be selfish, but I don't ever want to be that person again. I don't want you to lose someone you love because of me. And I'll do everything I can to make sure that doesn't happen."

It was a slow, tension-filled period of a few long seconds before Reyna's expression relaxed in a tiny smile. She twisted sideways toward Annabeth and said, "I know you will. Thank you."

Annabeth breathed out slowly in relief. It was painful to think back on her time in New York and the people she'd met there. Nico di Angelo, Tony La Rue, Silena Beauregard, Charlie Beckendorf—all people who'd tried to help her and had ended up dead. She hated the thought of adding Leo to that list, or Reyna, or Piper, or the Stoll brothers, or any of the rest. But that was why she'd brought it up—to reassure Reyna, yes, but also to remind herself of how much it hurt to be the cause of others' suffering. That pain would be her driving force from then on, she decided. It was as good a motivational ideal as any.

Annabeth and Reyna made much more positive small talk for the next few minutes until Percy and Grover came back, both of them complaining about bad-tempered wine-enthusiasts, and Annabeth had barely suggested they get something to drink and try to relax when their group was interrupted again by the arrival of another pair of familiar faces.

"Well, look who decided to pay us bottom-feeders a visit," a gruff female voice said loudly from directly behind Annabeth. "If it isn't the brand-new Chicago Shot-caller. Hold my drink, Zhang, while I take time to curtsy in the presence of royalty."

Annabeth noticed Percy roll his eyes before they both spun in their seats to see their guests—a tall, muscular woman and a taller, more muscular man.

"Nice to see you too, Clarisse," Percy replied sardonically, eyeing Clarisse La Rue up and down as though waiting for her to actually curtsy. "But the real surprise here is this." He wagged a finger between the two newcomers, arching an eyebrow. "Since when do you two hang out together?"

"They've actually been a pretty good team the past few weeks," Grover cut in, leaning forward from Percy's other side. "Declaring war on the CIA must have been the spark that made them realize feuding was totally pointless."

"Something like that," Clarisse's half-brother Frank said with a humored smirk. He held a hand out to Percy, who shook it cordially. "Don't listen to her, though, it's cool to see you. I kind of expected you'd be back, after… You know."

Percy's expression seemed to deflate a bit and Annabeth realized Frank must have been referring to the incident with Parker. "I was actually gonna call you guys in a bit," he told the siblings, lowering his voice. "We've got kind of a… sensitive mission coming up. Thought maybe we could use your help."

He and Annabeth had discussed potential candidates for the CIA infiltration team earlier that morning, and Frank and Clarisse, as co-head encounter strategists for the organization, had come up. Maybe it was some odd working of fate that they'd shown up there that night.

"Not surprising you'd come to me," Clarisse boasted.

Frank, however, frowned at the look on Percy's face. "Sensitive how?"

"It's about—"

"Percy? Is that you?"

For a second Percy looked mildly put off at being interrupted again, but when he noticed the person pushing through a nearby cluster of college students his scowl loosened to a smile.

"It _is_ you!" the excited young woman exclaimed as she approached and promptly threw her arms around him. "Welcome back, it's so good to see you! We've missed you here! Oh, this place _so_ isn't the same without you." She smiled at Annabeth over Percy's shoulder as her appearance registered in Annabeth's memory. Long black hair, fair skin, petite frame—her name was Katie, another member of Olympus. She'd been the cook at the Grapevine during their last few visits a year and a half ago.

"Hey, Katie," Percy said as she backed up. "Good to see you… too…" His voice trailed off as he glanced down and got a good look at his old friend, and Annabeth understood immediately why. She remembered Katie being small and thin; well, the cook was still only a couple inches over five feet, but no longer quite so thin—her stomach had a defined, rounded swell to it. Either she'd started eating all her troubles away, or she was the first one of them to have some good news.

"You look… different," Percy added uncertainly.

Katie giggled and swatted his shoulder. "I'm pregnant, doofus."

"Oh. What—really?"

"Twenty-five weeks," Katie confirmed, beaming.

"Congratulations!" Annabeth said with a grin, leaning forward around her stunned fiancé.

"Thanks! So how are you guys? Who's your friend?" Katie nodded her head past Annabeth toward Reyna, and Annabeth tilted herself sideways to introduce them.

"This is Reyna. Reyna, Katie Gardner. Oh…" She turned back around, a thought crossing her mind. "Is it still Gardner?"

"It's still Gardner," Katie replied. "We're not getting married—at least not yet. Maybe someday, but… well, we talked about it and decided now isn't really the best time."

"You're still working here?" Percy asked her.

"Yeah. Like I said, things here aren't the same without you. Silena, too. Fresch needs all the competent help he can get nowadays—especially with Travis and Connor taking over most of the bartending shifts." She rolled her eyes. "You know they've got plenty of enthusiasm, but they're a little lacking in the 'focus' department."

"I hear you," Percy agreed with an amused smirk.

"Uh-oh. Look out, everybody, wide load comin' through!"

Katie turned to glare at Travis as he reappeared behind the bar, grinning innocently at her. A few people nearby chuckled at his joke and she said with a short sigh, "I hate you."

"I know." He leaned forward and stretched an arm all the way across the bar, touching the palm of his hand to Katie's stomach as she stepped closer so he could reach. To the unborn baby inside, he said, "But _you_ don't hate me, do you? I didn't think so."

"I'll speak for her, thank you," Katie said, a smile tugging at her lips.

"And?"

"She doesn't hate you." She glanced thoughtfully at the ceiling. "Though I'm not sure how I'm gonna break it to her that her father's a total dork. She might be scarred for life."

"Here we go," Clarisse muttered irritably under her breath, turning away from them and taking a swig from the bottle in her hand.

"Hey," Travis protested, standing up straight and pointing a finger at Katie. "It's a dad's job to make corny jokes. Don't you dare try to take that away from me."

"Wait." Percy fixed Travis with a suspicious look. " _You're_ that kid's father?"

Travis grinned, eyebrows jumping. "You've missed a couple things while you were lying low, boss."

"Apparently. What'd you do, brainwash her?"

"Please." Katie giggled and rolled her eyes again. "Like he could pull off something like that. No, after you left, things… got kind of tense around here." She leaned sideways against the bar, looking troubled. "We'd also lost Nico, and Tony… Your dad was different, too, with you gone—less relaxed, more… agitated. After those couple clashes with the CIA, there was more pressure on all of us. My mom was still covering for Damien, had me running errands all over the place. It was stressful. And with Connor in the hospital for a while, Travis and I were… Well, we were there for each other." She reached across the surface of the bar and touched Travis's hand. He smiled at her. "It just kind of happened."

"They've been together since…" Grover glanced at Katie and continued, "What, a few weeks after he left?" Katie nodded, and Grover turned back to Percy. "I know, I was surprised at first, too."

Percy shook his head in wonder and Annabeth chuckled. She remembered the night she'd first met Katie and the Stoll brothers. Nico had told her that Travis had a thing for Katie, but as far as everyone was concerned it was a 'never-gonna-happen' kind of situation. Nothing to take seriously. Evidently things really _had_ changed while they'd been away.

"Wow," Percy summed up aptly. "Well, congratulations, I guess."

Katie grinned and Travis said, "Thanks."

"I'm still just having a hard time imagining you as a dad. You're really excited about this?"

"Oh, he wasn't at first," Katie assured them, brown eyes sparkling with amusement. "You should've seen his face when I told him I was pregnant. He didn't blink for almost five minutes." She straightened her back and opened her eyes wide, staring straight ahead blankly in a comical impression and drawing laughter from most of the group.

In the midst of said laughter, a low buzz of music that didn't match the loudspeakers sounded suddenly and Percy reached into his jacket and pulled out his phone, the screen of which had lit up with an incoming call. "Be right back," he said, excusing himself from the area and heading toward the front door to take the call.

"So did you pick a name yet?" Annabeth asked Katie, nodding to the bump in her shirt.

Katie's smile grew as she gently touched a hand to her stomach, looking down at it fondly. "Lila."

"That was our mom's name," Travis explained, jerking his head in the vague direction of where his brother was working.

"It's a beautiful name," Annabeth told them with a smile. Inwardly, she marveled at how genuinely happy she was feeling—it was amazing how news as good as the coming of a new life was able to make her forget, at least for a little while, all the heaviness of her situation. It was symbolic, somehow—no matter how bad things god, how dark the future seemed, life went on. And it always would.

Unfortunately, those good feelings didn't last. When Percy came back inside a minute later, the grave expression on his face made Annabeth's smile falter. He'd received a lot of random phone calls since she'd been back—a fact which she attributed to his new status and how busy he'd been—but by the look of things, this one hadn't been a simple routine update. Something was wrong.

As he approached, everyone quieted, expressions tensing at their boss's face and stature. He looked first to Annabeth and Reyna as he reported, "That was Jason's mole. He's got our information."

Immediately Annabeth's mouth turned dry. Swallowing hard, she asked, "And?"

Percy glanced tentatively around at the group, but seeing as it was made up entirely of members of Olympus (save for Reyna, who of course was already involved), he had no reason to hold anything back. "Atlas is back, alright," he told them. "He and two other agents brought a high-security prisoner—identity Level One classified—into the base's containment level late Friday night. Word is buzzing around the place, but only an extremely small team is in on all the details."

"Leo," Reyna muttered in a low voice, gaze sharpening. Again she slid a hand in her jacket pocket, clenching a fist inside it.

Annabeth released her breath in a slow sweep, a cold feeling trickling into her lungs. She'd been right after all. That fact should've come with some measure of satisfaction, but instead she felt only a sting of dread—now there was no avoiding it. They would have to pay a visit to the agency.

She straightened her shoulders and let her expression harden. There was no time for doubts. She had to stay strong. "What about tech trash removal? Is it tomorrow?"

Percy's frown deepened. "No, not until next Monday."

"A week?" Reyna said in apprehension, and Annabeth clucked her tongue in agreement. She knew it was dangerous to put off their rescue mission. But at the same time, going in without proper preparation would be equally as perilous. She had to believe that the extra time to ready their plan would be worth the risk.

"Guess we've got some time to kill," she decided.

"You could start," Travis cut in from behind Annabeth, "by explaining what the heck is going on here."

She turned on her stool to see those not yet privy to the situation watching them with alarmed expressions, taking clear note of the sudden change in atmosphere. She exchanged a glance with Percy and his eyes told her he was thinking the same thing she was: Might as well tell them. They couldn't pull this off alone, after all.

"Well, to put it bluntly," she explained grimly, "we're planning to infiltrate CIA HQ. And we could use all the help we can get."

* * *

 **Throwback to some fun FAW/EE side-characters, haha. They'll stick around. I like writing them too much :D**

 **Okay, next chapter will be long and action-packed, so I cannot guarantee when it'll be up. I'm gonna try hard to get it done by mid-next week, like usual. Just know that this time you're waiting for an exciting chapter, not another expo one. There's that, at least.**

 **Review maybe? Thanks, gang! Later days!**

 **-oMM**


	10. Feel

**WHEW. Finally! A little later than I wanted, but look at dat length. This one, I feel, might actually be worth the time it took me to write, haha. I kind of love it. Despite how stupidly long and rambly it is.**

 **Why didn't I split this into two chapters? That's an excellent question. I have no excellent answer.**

 **Anyway, thanks as always for reading, gang! Enjoy!**

 **(I find it funny how appropriate this particular lyric is to this series, fyi. Haha)**

* * *

Bring _home_ the boys and scrap, **scrap metal** the tanks / Get **hitched** , make a career out of _robbing banks_

* * *

The next seven days were quite possibly the longest in Reyna's life.

She'd never been an impatient person. Years of martial arts training had impressed upon her the importance of calm self-control. _Master your emotions_ , her sensei had always told her. _Do not let them master you._ It was what they'd practiced more than any other tip or technique. And Reyna had excelled. Dominance over her state of mind had always been her strong point, her greatest pride. Her nerves were like pythons—ever still and poised, coming alive only when the time was precisely right. She didn't lose her temper. She didn't give in to excitement. She didn't get scared.

That wasn't to say, of course, that life didn't tempt her. Her mother's abandonment, the arrest of her father, fights with her sister—all the difficulties that had dragged her down throughout the years had necessitated a firm mental stability. She'd _needed_ to be strong, or despair would take hold and drown her. She knew that. But still, the stress of the week leading up to Olympus's assault on the CIA's main building was enough to unsettle even her. It was all too much—the man she loved was in trouble, more now than ever, and in order to save him she had to break into a government facility full of armed agents with a group of people she barely knew and get in and out past state-of-the-art security systems without getting herself captured or killed. It wasn't as though Reyna was having second thoughts, but the stakes were impossibly high. And suppressing her emotions was becoming increasingly harder, like she was trying to wrangle a team of snarling wolves that were growing hungrier and more unruly by the second. The reins in her hands were beginning to snap, and soon the animals would break free, shattering the wall she'd built around her mind.

Through the strain, thin ribbons of emotion were slipping out into Reyna's consciousness, more and more with each passing day of anticipation. She spent most of that week alone in her temporary room in the Olympus-owned apartment complex in Queens, practicing tranquility exercises as March faded into April. Not that it did her much good. There was too much to preoccupy her mind, to cloud her attempts at clarity. But spending time with the others was only likely to make things worse, as each of them was a glaring reminder of how much her life had changed in recent months.

Reyna had never been a stranger to underworld politics, thanks to first her friendship with the daughter of a crime lord and later her relationship with a black-market munitions and technology dealer. She'd always considered herself skilled at remaining calm and strong-willed in the face of danger. It was one of the reasons she'd so readily agreed to join Thalia and Annabeth in their vendetta against Zeus in January. What she hadn't expected, however, was the total upending of the semi-comfortable life she'd settled into.

She didn't blame Annabeth and the others, of course. How could she? They'd only been doing what they thought they had to. Annabeth had even apologized to her profusely during their road trip; it was very clear that the former assassin deeply regretted what had happened. But regardless of who was to blame, Reyna knew that after this whole thing was over, win or lose, her life would never be the same. And that realization, she suspected, was what shook her so greatly. She simply had no idea what was going to happen once this war she was caught up in was over. The darkness and ambiguity of it all chipped away at her emotional stability. Tiny sparks of fear and uncertainty popped continuously behind her eyes, constant flashes of light like her thoughts were pieces of tinder and flint striking together. And stronger than those was the anger—the oil adding fuel to those sparks. Before long, the tinder would catch, and everything would blaze out of control.

Frustrated, Reyna pressed her palms against her forehead and closed her eyes, letting her shoulders fall limp and dropping her meditative pose. Her nerves were far too wired for her usual yoga routine to relax them. No surprise there—she'd had the same result each of last seven times she'd tried. How could she expect something different on the very morning of their CIA infiltration? If anything, she was surprised she'd gotten as far as she had before giving up.

With a sigh, Reyna climbed to her feet and strode across the room, stretching her arms in the air as she plopped onto her bed. It was just past six in the morning, and the first floor hall outside her room, which buzzed with activity during the day, was silent and still. There were still quite a few hours until they were scheduled to leave for Virginia, but rest was the farthest thing from Reyna's mind. In a bit she would check in with Annabeth and the others, going over their equipment one last time and solidifying the plan, but until then she had nothing to do but try her hardest to set her consciousness at ease. She knew logically that a level head would benefit her greatly in their endeavor. But for whatever reason, it was something she was unfortunately unable to get back.

Well, not _whatever_ reason. She knew the reason, and that was part of the problem. She understood precisely why her emotions were getting away from her, and all that understanding did was make those feelings stronger. In an increasingly-reflexive gesture, she reached for her jacket, which was draped over the arm of the chair beside her bed, and stuck her hand in the right pocket. Her fingers closed around a small, metallic object and pulled it into the light, other hand dropping the jacket and leaving it forgotten. A familiar tightness gripped her lungs as her eyes fixed on the item's reflective surface, and with numb fingers she flipped its lid open, igniting a tiny tongue of fire in her hand.

The lighter was one of Leo's most treasured possessions. It wasn't anything special—old and dirty, the shine on its solid bronze casing dulled and darkened around the edges with years of fingerprints. But he'd had it for as long as Reyna could remember. He usually carried it with him, but he must have decided to leave it behind during the assault on the Willis Tower—perhaps because of the potential danger—because she'd found it in the glove box of his Maserati a few days afterward. It was like a strange stroke of luck; if he'd had it on him when he was taken in, it would now undoubtedly be in the hands of Atlas and the CIA, lost to him forever. Reyna knew what it meant to him and was glad that hadn't happened, both for his sake and her own. Since retrieving the lighter, she'd developed a habit of taking it out when she was alone, sometimes spending minutes just staring into the flickering flame. She'd already had to refill it twice. She wished she could stop; watching it was painful. Not only did it remind her that he wasn't there, which was bad enough, but it also called to mind its purpose—the reason he needed it like he did. And that increased Reyna's worry tenfold.

Leo had a form of histrionic personality disorder. It wasn't extreme; more of a rare strain that manifested in less obvious behavioral tendencies. He lacked the mental stability to manage negativity, whether aimed at him personally or a general adverse situation. To others it appeared as though he never took anything seriously, when the truth was that he physically couldn't help it. He reflexively made fun of any dark or dangerous situation, employing humor or sarcasm to draw attention away from the negative. Consequently, he'd always had a difficult time letting others get close to him, Reyna included. Rarely was she able to make him talk about it; when he'd first told her, he'd insisted that it wasn't a problem—so he had a habit of staying positive. Where was the bad in that? But in time, Reyna learned that that wasn't true. Maybe on paper the symptoms didn't sound so bad. In reality, though, they were dangerous. His way of brushing off the diagnosis was a perfect example. She knew part of him was so afraid of depression that his mind tried to block it out completely.

Leo was fully aware that that wasn't healthy. The lighter, in fact, was what helped him deal with it. Fire was what had taken his mother's life when he was a kid. He'd been exposed to it at an early age, learned the hard way that it was powerful and destructive. Watching the lighter's tiny flame flicker and crack forced him to face the danger his mind was so against. It reminded him that bad things happened all the time, and no amount of running and hiding behind forced smiles and snarky comments could make those bad things better. It was a form of therapy, helping him maintain his focus in the face of powerful emotions such as anger or fear. It kept him calm and serious, the same way Reyna's martial arts exercises did for her.

But now he was without it, stuck in an extremely negative and dangerous situation. Reyna was afraid to think how the stress and anxiety must have been affecting him. Without a way to counter his mental reflex, any pressure the CIA put on him would likely only trigger his defense mechanism and make things that much worse. He wouldn't face much backlash at first, but the more it happened in sequence the harder the emotional and mental strain would grow. It hurt her to think it, but after two months, there was a good chance his psyche would be irreparably damaged. For all she knew, he could already have gone insane.

In a huff Reyna snapped the lighter closed, extinguishing the flame. She hated every thought going through her head, every image flashing behind her eyes. She didn't want to imagine her boyfriend crazy or broken, to entertain the idea that he would be a different person when she saw him again—if she saw him again at all. It filled her with a white-hot streak of anger, despite all her intentions to hold her feelings back. It just wasn't fair that he kept being made to suffer in his life because of things he hadn't done.

As her fist tightened painfully around Leo's lighter, Reyna bit her tongue and tried to calm down. Being afraid was one thing, but fury she _had_ to contain. Anger was more dangerous than fear, she knew from her lessons. More volatile and unpredictable. Fear was like rain—heavy and clouded, pulling on a person like gravity and making their movements sluggish. In a pinch, it could be worked around without too much detriment. Anger, however, was like fire. It raged in the mind until it broke free and consumed the body. It bred destruction inside and out. Fear was to be avoided if possible, but anger at all costs. Anger was the enemy.

Still, knowing that anger was dangerous and being able to suppress it were two separate things entirely, especially in Reyna's current situation. All she could do was breathe deeply and tell herself that worrying was pointless—she and her friends were trying their best, however crazy their plan was. And that had to be enough.

For the moment, it didn't matter what happened afterward. Finding Leo was priority one. Risk or no risk, she was going to bring him home.

-0-0-0-

Never let it be said that being friends with the most powerful crime syndicate in the nation didn't have serious perks.

True, Olympus had been mostly responsible for Reyna's current predicament in the first place. But without their help, she would have had zero chance of getting anywhere close to the CIA.

She learned during the infiltration team's final meet-up that afternoon that a few of its members had been quite busy over the past week setting the stage for the operation. Olympus's top intelligence agent had procured disguises for them, transportation was provided by its head of communications and transit, and the senior equipment specialist himself had delivered them an arsenal of weapons and gadgets to get them in and out of the agency—which was heartening, because even though this was meant to be a stealth mission, it would be extremely foolish to break into a government building and not expect some opposition. In fact, they seemed so well-prepared when they set off for Langley that Reyna was actually starting to think the task wasn't as suicidal as its original idea suggested. Maybe she wouldn't have to reach so far for some hope after all.

"The real owners of these uniforms aren't going to show up to actually collect the trash while we're breaking in, are they?" Reyna voiced a minor concern as they drove from the landing site of their jet to the CIA building—more as a conversation starter than anything, as the silence in the spacious back of their borrowed cargo van was just a little too tense.

Sitting across from her, Annabeth shook her head. "No, we should be safe. That's taken care of, right?" She raised her eyebrows at her fiancé beside her.

"Yeah," Percy promised with a nod. "Aimee paid them to take the night off. And extra to keep quiet about it."

"Shame we couldn't have impersonated personal trainers or something," Piper complained from a spot near the van's rear doors. "This is extremely uncomfortable." She squirmed in her seat, pulling on the loose shoulders of her dark green jumpsuit. The suits were meant to be oversized, rather like industrial-grade coveralls, but hers took the word to a whole new level. She'd had to roll the sleeves and pant legs up three times just to free her hands and feet.

"Sorry, Piper." Annabeth winced. Her fingers tapped absently against the logo over her chest—jagged lines depicting electricity overlapped by bold, slanted text that read _First Energy E-Cycling, Electronic Waste Removal_. "That set was originally for Connor, back before you decided you were coming. We didn't have time to get another one."

"Yeah, yeah. Well, guess it'll just make me look that much more awesome when I _still_ kick ass dressed in this clown suit."

Percy grinned. "That's the spirit."

Reyna couldn't help a smile as well. Leave it to Piper to help lighten even an environment as dark as the one they were in. Unfortunately, her smile faltered again when she realized Leo would've done the same thing.

Rolling her eyes, Clarisse rapped her knuckles against the frame of the wide, open window separating them from the front seats. "ETA?" she inquired. "I'm getting gabbing fever back here with these people."

With a frown, Piper said, "You mean 'cabin fever'?"

Clarisse shot her a dry look. "No."

"Don't blow a gasket, Clarisse," Travis said from the driver's seat. "As funny as that would be. We're almost there."

He was right—barely another few minutes passed before they pulled off the main road and drove a short distance downhill before coming to a slow stop. As the van idled, Reyna twisted sideways and craned her neck to see out the front window. Before them was a gate of tall, titanium bars in a crisscrossed pattern, blocking the entrance to a wide lot in front of several metal garage doors lining the side of what she assumed was their destination—CIA main headquarters. She couldn't see much else of the building, just a huge wall of beige stone rising up above their heads.

"State your business," a low, tinny voice ordered from seemingly nowhere. When Travis leaned out his window to respond, Reyna assumed there must have been some kind of security intercom device somewhere to their left.

"We're from First Energy," Travis told the voice evenly. "Here to snag us some e-trash."

"Hold your badge up to the scanner."

Travis did as he was told, and though they'd been given actual First Energy ID badges to modify Reyna couldn't help holding her breath. A few long seconds later, a high-pitched _beep_ sounded and the disembodied voice said, "You're cleared. Go ahead and park by garage three. Someone will be down to open the door."

"Thanks, bro," Travis said as the titanium gate opened mechanically at the middle, both sides sliding apart with a steady thrum. He eased the van through the opening and brought it to rest sideways in front of the garage door painted with a large black number 3. He killed the engine, and the silence in the back became suddenly stifling.

"Finally," Clarisse grumbled, climbing to her feet at once. She strode stooping across the space and pushed the back doors open, hopping down to the pavement as Frank and Travis exited the front seats and slammed their doors closed.

Reyna was the next outside, glad for the fresh air. She took a few steps away from the van as the others unloaded and looked up at the building observationally. The fenced-in lot in which they were parked was lit by fluorescent spotlights mounted above the garage doors. It was after ten P.M., so most of the building's inner lighting was powered down, but a few of the rectangular windows lining the five aboveground floors of the facility were illuminated nonetheless. Far to her right and up the hill, she could see the edge of the New Headquarters Building, which Annabeth told them had been added on in the nineties, looking noticeably more occupied. It was a good thing that wasn't the building they were infiltrating.

Adrenaline had already picked up speed in Reyna's body by the time the garage door began to slide noisily upward, revealing a dimly lit warehouse-type room which housed piles of old and broken technical equipment, some boxed and some stacked plainly. Two men dressed in security guard uniforms approached them from inside.

"Evening, guys," the bigger, burlier one greeted them, inclining his head. "Big team tonight."

"Training some newbies," Percy explained calmly with a nod toward Reyna and Piper. Keeping her expression passive, Reyna waved, noticing that Annabeth had stayed in the van and out of sight. Maybe she recognized the guards. Or maybe she didn't want to be recognized herself.

"Ah, know how that goes," the shorter guard said, scratching his balding head. "Well, feel free to take your time. Things are pretty quiet here tonight so there's no rush." He unhooked a thick, black baton from his belt and held it up. "Just gotta wave you down and you'll be good to go."

Percy stepped forward and held out his arms, allowing the guard to search him with what Reyna now realized was a metal detector wand. It whirred scratchily as the guard swung it up and down, back and forth, and finding nothing out of the ordinary the guard nodded and moved on to search Frank.

The two uniformed men moved quickly through the process of checking each of them, but when the shorter one reached Clarisse something went wrong. The wand's low buzz heightened to a loud _beep_ as it passed over in front of her, drawing the group's attention.

Showing no signs of concern other than a slight frown, the guard said, "Forgot to mention, make sure you lose all keys and electronics—cell phone, iPod… Got anything like that on you?"

"No," Clarisse responded, unperturbed. In a conversational tone, she told the guard, "That's probably my guns."

The guard barely had time to look confused before she reached into the open front of her jumpsuit and yanked out two pieces with abnormally thick barrels. She aimed them at both guards simultaneously but only fired from her right hand. The resulting projectile smacked the bigger guard in the chest and a sharp _zap_ rang out as sparks flew from the point of contact. The guard convulsed like he was having a seizure and collapsed on the spot.

For a split second everyone looked stunned. Then, despite the fact that Clarisse's second weapon was still aimed at him, the remaining guard made a jerky movement as he reached reflexively for the gun at his waist. Travis, who was standing closest, blinked and jumped into swift action, snatching the guard's arm and pulling the gun from his slack grip. He pointed the barrel at the sky and said, "Slow down there, buddy, we just want to talk. And if you don't mind…" He reached around the guard's shoulder and disconnected the communication radio attached to the front of his uniform. "Let's keep it between us, okay?"

As the guard gulped and looked nervously at Clarisse's gun, Percy shot her a glare.

"Didn't we decide no heat until we know we're clear?"

Clarisse lifted a shoulder. " _You_ decided not to pack. But come on, _boss_ , what kind of idiots would we be to walk into CIA HQ unarmed? I don't know about you, but tonight ain't ending in a cell for me."

"It's okay," Frank said as he knelt beside the fallen guard. "They're mid-range voltaics. The ballistic triggers an electric charge but doesn't penetrate. No blood. So his uniform's fine."

Clarisse smirked in satisfaction. "See? _And_ that's one down. I just made this job easier."

Percy rolled his eyes, choosing not to respond.

"Wh-Who are you guys?" the still-conscious guard, about whom everyone seemed to have temporarily forgotten, asked tensely. "What do you want?"

"We'll tell you," Annabeth cut in as she hopped out of the van and walked up to the guy, "if you answer a question of ours."

The guy's eyes narrowed as he looked her over then widened, his face draining of color. "Agent Chase?" he squeaked. His gaze darted between the rest of them. "Then you're… You're Olympus."

"Two for two." Travis grinned, twirling the security guard's handgun in his hand. "Give the guy a prize."

"The prize will be, he gets to live," Percy suggested as the guard eyed his own gun nervously. "If he tells us what we want to know."

"Which is what?" the guard asked.

Annabeth tilted her head to the side and fixed him with a stern look. "Word on the street is Atlas brought a con in a little while ago. New favorite of his—old favorite of ours. We need you to tell us where's he's keeping him."

"How would I know that?"

"Because you're lower level security detail," Annabeth responded, unfazed. "Which includes confinement. Unless Atlas is keeping our friend in his office, which I seriously doubt, you know where he is."

The guy's eyes darted around the group from person to person in hesitation. When he continued to look thoughtful but silent, Percy caught Travis's eye and jerked his head. With a sigh, Travis cocked the guard's gun and aimed it at the man's left shin. His finger tightened on the trigger and for a split second Reyna thought he was going to fire despite their earlier discussion to keep from harming the guards—but before he got the chance the guard took a hasty step sideways and said, "Wait, wait, wait, okay! I'll give you the location!" He nodded toward his fallen fellow. "But you gotta let me go, get help for my partner."

"Fair enough," Annabeth decided.

"Okay. …Your guy's in locker B-one-thirty. It's on basement level one, end of the south hall."

Annabeth smiled, meeting Reyna's eye momentarily. "Thanks. That's exactly what we needed."

"Our deal?"

"Of course. Soon as you wake up, you're free to go."

The guard looked mystified. "Soon as I—"

That was all he got out before Reyna, who'd approached him silently from behind, jabbed three fingers against the pressure point on the side of his neck. His eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out cold.

"Nice work guys," Percy told the team, stepping forward and gathering up the now-unconscious guard's feet. "Let's move."

Together the seven of them hauled the guards into the open garage and stripped them of their uniforms, which Frank and Percy quickly changed into while the others doled out equipment from the stash in the back of the van. Not five minutes later, they were loaded and ready to advance.

"Keep your comms on channel two," Travis told them all as he sat down just inside the van and flipped open a laptop computer. "Let me know if you get stuck, I've got those old blueprints Hank dug up. I should also be able to monitor upstairs activity from here and use those guys' clearance to watch for security flags in the system. I'll let you know if anything freaky happens." He looked up and grinned. "Good luck."

"We'll need it," Frank pointed out.

Percy led the way through Garage 3 to the security door against its back wall. He held the shorter guard's ID badge up to the scanner and the red light on it flashed green, triggering a loud _click_ as the heavy door was mechanically unlocked. Frank grabbed the metal handle and pulled it open, allowing the six of them to duck inside.

Beyond was a dimly-lit hallway with a dusty concrete floor. Industrial light bars lined the ceiling, casting the pale gray drywall in a dull wash of illumination. It was rather unremarkable; nothing about it screamed 'high-tech government facility'. Perhaps this particular basement level was only used for storage.

"Stairs are down the hall to your right," Travis's voice spoke from the device in Reyna's ear. "You're only going one level up, so no point using the elevator."

"Roger," Annabeth replied into her radio, leading on at a quick pace. On the way, they passed two more security doors labeled 'GARAGE 4' and 'GARAGE 5', as well as several other ID-operated doors on the opposite wall. Some bore worn plaques reading things like 'SYSTEM BACKUP STORAGE', 'EQUIPMENT LIBRARY', and 'OPERATION ARCHIVES'. Others had no identification at all—maybe they were for building maintenance. At the end of the hall, the walls converged on a single door with a push bar and no ID scanner. Iron letters attached to it read 'STAIRWELL'.

As they climbed, Annabeth told them, "I'm pretty sure there are training rooms on this floor, so we might run into people. Let's slow it down and try not to be too suspicious."

Piper snorted and said in an undertone, "Have you _seen_ us?"

At the next landing, Frank pulled open the door labeled B1 and he and Percy, both disguised as CIA security guards, led the way out into a hall very different from the one below. The floor was covered in thin, black carpeting to cushion against the concrete. The walls were painted a deep, regal blue and mounted with various portraits and plaques bearing neat descriptions. Covered bulbs on the ceiling gave a much more natural sort of lighting. While Basement Level 2 had felt like a ghost town, Level 1 actually seemed occupied.

Reyna was surprisingly calm as they trudged down the long hallway, her muscles tight and poised for action but her mind clear. It was odd to her that she would feel more at ease now, in the middle of an enemy stronghold, than she had in the safety of the Marten last week. The inactivity and anticipation of the days leading up to that night must have been what triggered her emotional disquiet. It was like she'd mentioned to Annabeth in Las Vegas—simply _doing_ something, moving forward and getting noticeably closer to her goal, was more reassuring than anything. And now, that goal was at the end of this hallway. She thought of Leo's lighter, which was tucked safely in her utility belt. It seemed to grow heavier as they got closer, though that was probably just her imagination. Part of her knew she should've left it behind in case it got lost, but a bigger part didn't care. There was no more time to waste imagining worst-case scenarios. All of her focus had to be zeroed in on the mission at hand.

When they rounded the corner to the right up ahead, they came across a pair of men dressed in workout clothes heading in the opposite direction. They slowed to a stop as the larger group neared.

"What's going on, guys?" the taller, dark-haired agent asked with a frown.

"Nothing to worry about," Percy assured them as Annabeth let her brown hair slide forward and conceal part of her face. "Had some heavier equipment up here that didn't get brought down to the garage. We're just taking them to pick it up, and they'll be out of here."

"Oh." The agent glanced over Frank's shoulder and did a double-take—perhaps because all four First Energy movers were women. Clarisse raised an eyebrow as though daring him to comment and he quickly looked away.

"You look familiar," his friend said to Percy, squinting at him in consideration.

Percy gave the guy a funny look. "I should, I've been working here for two years."

After a few seconds, the blond agent shrugged, conceding the point. "Alright. See you guys." He and his partner waved and continued on past them.

Once they'd gone, Percy's expression darkened and he cursed under his breath.

"You think Kronos spread your picture around like they did Annabeth's?" Frank asked him in a low voice.

"He wouldn't have done to the whole agency," Annabeth said, though she didn't sound completely certain. "Everything regarding Olympus was always kept pretty need-to-know. So unless that guy's on the specialized team… Or knows someone who is…"

"Or unless Kronos is getting desperate," Clarisse guessed.

"He didn't seem to have figured it out," Reyna pointed out.

"No," Percy agreed. "But no more of this slow-and-steady crap. We gotta hurry in case he has a sudden brainwave and calls Atlas."

The end of the hall angled again to the right, leading to what Travis informed them was the confinement wing. It was blocked off by a heavy metal door surrounded by chain link gating that stretched from floor to ceiling. It looked like the sort of door that would trigger an alarm system when opened, which wasn't exactly a reassuring thought.

Fortunately that didn't seem to happen, as the security guards' ID badges granted them access with no sound other than a quiet, cheerful _beep_.

As they stepped in turn through the gated doorway, the atmosphere changed immediately. No adornments hung on the walls, the blue paint on which was cracked and peeling, and fewer lights provided scarcer lighting. A single row of metal doors lined the right wall, each one plain, lonely steel with a single square window near the top. There was no carpet in this section of the hall, and the concrete floor was scuffed and dirty. Some of the stains were a dark burgundy-gray, like spots of blood that couldn't be washed completely clean.

"Anybody else feel like we just stepped into a horror movie?" Piper whispered, apprehensively eyeing a chipped dent in the wall that looked suspiciously like a bullet hole.

"It's meant to scare anybody brought in here," Annabeth explained—though she too looked uneasy. "Most of the marks and stains are theatric."

"Most?" Reyna repeated. Annabeth shrugged weakly.

"How do we know which one's locker B-one-thirty?" Frank wondered, stepping up to inspect the nearest steel door. "There're no numbers."

"There're windows, aren't there?" Clarisse said dryly. "Besides, that guard said 'end of the hall'. So let's check the end of the hall."

They started down the hall at different paces, someone peering through the tiny window at each door. The rooms looked to be simply adorned, set up rather like prison cells. Each contained plain walls and very little furniture. Halfway down, Reyna found one that was occupied and felt her heart skip a beat as she took a closer look. But the sleeping man inside was unfamiliar to her, so with a shaky breath she moved on.

"Reyna!" someone called urgently, and Reyna turned quickly from the room she was searching to see Annabeth leaning against the last door in line. She looked at Reyna with wide eyes and the martial artist knew they'd found the place.

As everyone hurried over, Reyna bolted past them and reached the door just as Annabeth stepped aside. She brought her face close to the window and felt her heart leap into her throat in an unmasked mixture of excitement and agitation.

 _Leo was inside_.

Visibility through the dirty glass was poor and she could just barely make him out, sitting still on the cot against the back wall with his head bent low to his chest. He was dressed in gray coveralls like an inmate and she couldn't see his face, but she recognized the shape of his body and his dark, shaggy mop of hair. It was really him. She'd finally found him after so many long weeks of searching.

"Let's get in there," Percy said, voice stern and serious. Frank swiped his badge through the scanner beside the door handle, but rather than flash green the red light only blinked defiantly.

Brow creasing in concern, Frank tried again. Still nothing.

"The guards don't have access?" Piper summed up, looking over her shoulder nervously.

"We can use Hank's re-coder," Percy suggested, pulling a small, black, mechanical box from a pocket in his uniform, "but it'll take some time." To Clarisse, he said, "Go keep watch. Warn us if anyone comes close." With how tense the atmosphere had become, Clarisse didn't shoot back a response. She followed her boss's order at once.

Percy pressed two buttons on the device in his hand and an orange light flickered to life on its surface. When he held it against the security scanner, it stuck as though magnetically charged. The orange light flashed twice and Percy slid his stolen ID badge into a narrow slot at the top of the device. The light immediately turned yellow and began to pulse at a steady rate.

While they waited for the gadget to rewrite the access coding on the guard's badge, Reyna returned her attention to her boyfriend's cell. Upon prolonged inspection, she noticed that he looked thinner than usual, like he hadn't eaten properly in quite some time (which probably was entirely true). She could make out a few frightening red patches on his clothes that she hoped weren't blood (unlikely). And—perhaps most disturbing—he wasn't moving. At all.

Reyna's heart rate had increased greatly by the time the pulsing yellow light on the re-coding device turned green, and she had to force herself to step back from the door as Percy removed the box from the scanner and slid his ID through it. All four of them seemed to collectively hold their breath in the split second before the red light finally flashed green.

"Yes!" Piper cheered. Percy grabbed the now-unlocked handle and tugged open the door, and Reyna would have burst into the room if Frank didn't grab her shoulder to hold her back.

"Wait," he cautioned. He peered into the room and located a single security camera mounted on the ceiling corner to their immediate left. He held a hand out to Annabeth, who reached into her utility belt and took out a circular black disc the size of a silver dollar. Keeping his eyes on the camera, Frank lobbed the disc into the air. It stuck against the surface of the camera and a tiny red light began to flash. It synced up with the light on the camera for a few seconds, before both lights stopped blinking and began to glow steadily.

"Okay." Frank stepped out of the doorway. "Camera feed's frozen. We have five minutes."

Wasting no time, Reyna dashed past him. "Leo!" she said in relief, sliding to her knees in front of the cot and grabbing her boyfriend's shoulders with shaking hands. When he didn't immediately look up, she called his name again and tightened her grip, panic welling inside her.

The tightness in her chest burst when Leo finally responded with a low groan and his muscles tensed. With what looked like great difficulty he lifted his head and looked at her through heavy, clouded eyes.

Unexpectedly Reyna's relief disappeared, replaced instead with a powerful swell of anxiety. He was alive, yes—but by the look of things, _barely_. His face and neck were dotted with bruises and scratches like a watercolor painting. His bottom lip was split and swollen, and one of his front teeth had been broken in half. She could see dried blood on his forehead beneath his overgrown bangs. Her eyes inspected him more closely and saw that his left wrist looked clearly broken and the back of his right hand had numerous tiny holes in it—like needle puncture wounds. She became very aware that the blood on his left shoulder beneath her hand was still damp.

"God, what did they do to you?" she demanded in a harsh whisper, again feeling fiery sparks of anger try to take hold of her mind.

"Reyna…?" Leo said in apparent surprise, his eyebrows knitting closer and his eyes attempting to focus. "You're not…"

His voice was so gravelly that Reyna wouldn't have recognized it had she not been staring him in the face. "Yes, it's me," she told him, pushing his hair out of his eyes and pressing her hands to either side of his face. His skin was feverishly warm. "I'm here. We're getting you out of this place."

"Not real…" he muttered deliriously, shaking his head weakly as his gaze drifted downward. "No games… Not again… I can't…"

Heart breaking in dread, Reyna leaned closer. "No, it's me! It's me, Leo, please don't—don't do this. Not now."

"We should go," Percy said urgently behind her.

"Wait," she shot back haltingly. On a whim, she dug a hand into her belt and snatched up Leo's lighter. She held it up and whipped it open, flicking the hatch so a warm wisp of fire burst to life between them. "Look," she said evenly, successfully keeping her voice from quavering despite its apparent determination to do so. "Leo, look at me."

His eyes focused slowly on the flame and the layer of haze faded from them, as though the heat had driven it away. His dark irises reflected the dancing orange and yellow light, bringing a familiar life back to their depths.

"My… lighter…" he recognized the object, his voice rising a stitch in volume and strength. His eyes lifted back to Reyna's face and widened. "Reyna?"

"Yes!" Reyna's heart flipped in her chest. She snapped the lighter closed and threw her arms around him, unable to hold herself back. She was too relieved and excited—he wasn't gone, not yet. He recognized her. He would be okay.

Leo breathed in sharply and grunted at the sudden pressure and Reyna let go of him at once. "Sorry," she muttered with a smile. He gave a weak grin in response and she felt her smile grow.

"Guys, you got a problem," Travis's tense voice interrupted in Reyna's ear, startling her. "Someone flagged the security system—code seven-five-Charlie, whatever that means. Lot of movement on the upper floors. Fast movement. You guys didn't trip any alarms or anything, did you?"

"Seven-five-Charlie," Annabeth repeated uneasily. "That's security level three—aggressors in the building."

Leo glanced up and frowned at Annabeth, quickly surveying the room's other occupants. "You guys…"

"They know we're here." Scowling, Percy slid his gun from the holster he'd stolen from the security guard. "We're leaving. Now."

Reyna turned back to Leo. "Can you walk?"

He grimaced. "Define 'walk'…"

She grabbed his arm and tried to help him stand, but he was clearly in no condition to do so. His face screwed up in pain and he stumbled back to the edge of the cot almost at once.

"Plan B?" he said weakly, sweat beading on his forehead, before his eyes slid closed again and he slumped forward against Reyna.

"Frank," Percy began, but the bigger man was already moving. He knelt beside Reyna and heaved Leo onto his back like a knapsack, then climbed back to his feet with a steely expression.

Gunshots and loud voices from down the hall caught the group's attention and after a brief exchange of glances they raced out of the room. Clarisse was running toward them, M-10 in her hand, but she skidded to a halt halfway down the hall when she caught sight of them.

"Trouble's here," she told them grimly. "Took two out, but I'd be surprised if more weren't—"

"Freeze!" a new voice bellowed, and Clarisse spun around to reveal a suited agent standing at the end of the hall, gun trained in their direction. He pressed a finger to his ear and said, "I've got Jackson, he's in the confinement wing of level B-one. Requesting immediate backup."

A bouquet of curse words sprang from at least half their group. Percy yelled, "Down—now!" before raising his gun without pause and firing at the agent. The man returned fire, but his shots flew over the others' heads. Percy's third and fourth bullets pierced the agent's chest and he crumpled against the wall.

"Guess they recognized you after all," Piper pointed out unnecessarily.

"It's tough being this popular," Percy replied, though his voice was hard and devoid of humor. "Come on."

They ran down the hall, but the instant they turned the corner they were met with a barrage of semi-automatic gunfire. Reflexes taking over, Reyna threw herself backward out of the way, grabbing Frank and Piper as she did so. She heard Frank growl in pain and had only a second to wonder if a stray bullet had struck him before she forced herself to focus and produce a weapon of her own from inside her jumpsuit. She wasn't much of a marksman—she much preferred close-contact, hand-to-hand combat—but when the situation called for it, as it did right then, she could handle a gun well enough.

Fortunately, those more skilled with long-range weapons than she was took quick control of the situation. Clarisse leaned around the corner and fired her machine pistol as Annabeth crouched by her feet and provided her with some cover fire. Reyna couldn't see what was happening out in the main hall, but after a couple pained howls Clarisse grunted, "Clear, go," and Annabeth led the way through the gate.

They ran past Clarisse one by one while she kept watch and hurried at a run down the hall. Frank's expression was tight with pain but he seemed to be moving normally, so for the time being Reyna didn't bother him about it. They rushed past the locker rooms, elevators, and the first few training rooms before two earsplitting gunshots and a sharp cry interrupted. Reyna slowed and turned to see Clarisse stumble backward against the wall, clutching her left arm, as a tall, stocky man brandishing an assault rifle stepped out of the middle elevator.

"Nice of you all to stop by," the man said coldly. A smirk broke his harsh, brutish face, but his dark eyes were icy and full of fury. "Sorry to cut this little visit short."

"Atlas," Percy, who was closest to the man and Clarisse, said tensely.

"Evening, Jackson," Duke Atlas said, pivoting to aim his rifle at the leader of Olympus. "You know, I gotta admit you got guts. I almost didn't believe 'em when they said they saw you down here."

"Well, you know," Percy replied conversationally. Reyna could see the tightness in his body as he squeezed the handle of his gun, though he made no move to raise it. "You dropped in on us a while ago. Thought we'd return the favor."

"Mighty thoughtful of you. Too bad this'll be the last time we hang out."

Time seemed to slow as Atlas's finger tightened on the trigger and Reyna and the others (whom she noticed and stopped behind her) just had time to dive aside. Percy ducked the shot and somersaulted forward, coming up in a crouch and tackling Atlas. He flipped over the agent on the floor, grabbing Atlas's rifle in the process. He yanked the rifle against the man's throat and dug his knee into Atlas's shoulder, gripping the Deputy Director in a tight chokehold.

"We'll hold him off!" Percy shouted down the hall as Atlas struggled against him. "Get out of here!"

"No!" Annabeth shot back, pushing through Reyna and Piper and aiming her gun at Atlas.

The look in Atlas's eyes intensified. "Chase!" he croaked. He pulled a leg up and drew a long, pointed blade with no handle from his boot, swinging it blindly over his head in an effort to break free. By a stroke of luck—good luck for Atlas, anyway, bad luck for the rest—the blade sliced across Percy's forearm and he loosened his grip, allowing Atlas to jerk forward and give himself enough room to drive an elbow into Percy's stomach.

By this time Clarisse had regained her bearings, and though her left arm hung limply at her side she was able to stagger forward with a growl and yank the rifle from Atlas's hand before he got a chance to aim and fire. She drove the butt of it into the agent's neck, knocking him sideways.

Percy stood up unsteadily, doubled over from Atlas's blow, and yelled to Annabeth, "Go! We'll be right behind you!"

Annabeth still seemed reluctant. "But—"

"GO!"

Atlas punched Clarisse in her bad arm and turned back to Percy, lashing out with his blade. Reyna stepped forward and grabbed Annabeth's shoulder, turning her away from them. "Come on," she said urgently. "They'll catch up."

"But what if—?"

"They'll catch up," Reyna insisted with more force.

Finally the former assassin relented. She gripped her gun and weaved back past Reyna, Piper, and Frank, leading the way down the hall in the direction from which they'd first come.

They rounded the last bend just in time to see a small group of agents—some dressed in business casual wear, some wearing workout clothes, all holding guns—burst out of the stairwell door. They faltered in surprise as they saw the infiltration team, possibly not expecting to run into them so quickly. Annabeth, however, seemed to experience no such alarm. She immediately dropped to a steady stance and unloaded her Browning in their direction, causing them to scatter. Two went down under fire, three ducked back into the stairwell, and the other two fell to a crouch and brandished their own guns. Reyna threw herself in front of Frank and Leo, completely ignoring the bullet that grazed her left thigh, and returned fire. Her shots were a bit wild and served better as a distraction than a threat, but it was enough to force the closest agents to throw their hands over their heads in defense. Losing track of what her friends were doing, she rushed the nearest woman and drove a knee into her chin before she got a chance to steady her weapon. The agent flailed backward and managed to aim her gun with both hands, but Reyna was too fast. She pushed the woman's arms up, causing her to fire into the ceiling, and side-slapped her bicep, breaking her arm as easily as though it were made of porcelain. The woman made the mistake of rolling sideways as she groaned in pain, allowing Reyna to drive a palm against the back of her head and knock her out cold.

Someone grabbed Reyna's braided hair and pulled, sending tendrils of pain across her scalp as she was yanked backward. The barrel of a gun appeared in her face and she had a split second to rock back and swing her leg upward, kicking her captor's arm and diverting the would-be-fatal shot. She let her momentum carry her legs up and flipped backward into a standing position, swinging an arm to block the blow the man aimed at her with his right hand. She pushed his arm sideways and spun around to elbow him in the chest, causing him to stumble backward. Then she grabbed his collar and pulled him into a stoop as she whipped around and wrapped one leg around his neck. She somersaulted in midair and dragged the man to the floor, pressing her hand and knee to his neck until he passed out from lack of oxygen.

Instinctively Reyna ducked as gunfire flew past her, and a quick survey of the area proved that only one agent was left standing. Not that she lasted long—the next time she leaned around the stairwell doorway to take a shot, Piper, who was waiting on the doorway's other side, punched her in the face and sent her crashing down the metal stairs.

"Come on!" Annabeth said, sprinting for the stairwell. Reyna let Piper and Frank follow, bringing up the rear so she could keep an eye on her unconscious boyfriend.

No one was waiting for them on level B2. The storage floor was just as eerily quiet and abandoned as the first time they'd traversed it that evening. Frank's stolen badge got them into Garage 3, the door of which was still open wide, and together they rushed out into open air.

"About time!" Travis greeted them less-than-cheerily. He'd closed his laptop and was crouched inside the back of the van, both hands gripping an automatic rifle. Reyna saw bullet holes in the van's side casing, and a glance to her right showed more near the security gate. Two men in guard uniforms lay nearby, in addition to the two they'd knocked out earlier.

"Sorry," Annabeth said breathlessly. "You were right, they were on to us."

"Nice of them not to close the gate." Piper nodded to the still-open security gate at the edge of the fenced-in lot.

"Oh, they tried," Travis promised grimly. "I jammed the automatic system. It can still be closed from here, though, so we'd better boogie before they send more guards to do so. That him?" He jerked his head at Leo, and Frank nodded in affirmation. "Good, mission accomplished then. Wait—where are Percy and Clarisse?"

Annabeth winced. "Atlas intercepted us. They stayed back to hold him off. We have to give them a few minutes—they said they'd meet us here."

Frank shot a nervous glance at the door across the garage. "I don't think we have much time—"

"We're waiting," Annabeth cut him off with a glare. "I'm not leaving anyone behind. Not this time."

Reyna glanced at Leo and felt she understood exactly what the former agent was thinking. Leaving someone behind was precisely what had gotten them into this mess.

"Annabeth's right," she said aloud. "We can't leave yet." Annabeth looked at Reyna and gave her a small, grateful smile.

Swiftly they began loading into the back of the First Energy van, keeping watch from both ends of the lot. Frank collapsed into a seat the second he let go of Leo—it turned out he'd been shot in the side back in the confinement hall, but he hadn't brought it up as he was the only one capable of carrying their rescuee. The wound wasn't terrible—Annabeth was certain that his life wasn't in danger—but he'd be unable to provide any additional help would they need it that evening.

The next few minutes seemed to pass painstakingly slowly, and the tension was so high that the second the security door at the back of the garage opened, Annabeth, Travis, and Piper all whipped around and almost filled Percy and Clarisse full of lead.

"Oh, thank God," Annabeth breathed, lowering her gun. Reyna didn't know how they'd gotten away from Atlas, but it must not have been easy. Clarisse was leaning heavily on Percy, one arm around his shoulders and the other hanging at her side and drenched in blood. Percy had a slice across the side of his face that oozed blood down his jaw and was walking with a slight limp. As Annabeth hurried forward to help them, Travis jumped into the driver's seat of the van, chucked his rifle into the passenger seat, and started the engine.

The second they closed the back doors, the van surged into motion. Reyna heard gunfire and a furious, guttural yell from outside, but they were moving too fast, and in seconds it had grown distant. They barreled quickly up the hill and back to the main road, setting course for their jet landing site, where Connor Stoll would be waiting to fly them back to New York.

As their speed leveled out, Percy broke the silence by releasing a short, breathless sort of laugh. Everyone looked at him in mild surprise. He was leaning back against the side of van, watching the ceiling with a derisive grin as though it had just told some sort of joke. "This settles it," he said matter-of-factly. "We're insane. All of us."

Beside him, Annabeth chuckled and rubbed a hand fondly along his arm. Frank shook his head with a smirk, Clarisse rolled her eyes, and Piper said, "Damn straight." Reyna glanced at Leo, who was lying on his back across two seats beside her, and couldn't help an amused smile. They'd known from the beginning how utterly crazy this plan of breaking into CIA headquarters was. And yet somehow, against all the odds, they'd pulled it off. They'd all walked away. They'd _actually_ won.

Reyna gripped Leo's hand in both of hers and brushed her fingers across the dotted skin on the back of it. She lifted her hands and pressed her lips to his knuckles, her adrenaline finally fading into full-body relief. Their mad plan had worked—she had him back. She could see him again, feel him again. And despite his battered appearance, he was better off than she'd worried he'd be. For once she didn't even try to suppress her emotions—she let herself feel completely the anger, fear, uncertainty, and hope she'd been holding back for weeks. And she let it all go. None of it mattered anymore—not the pain in her body or the exhaustion in her mind. She glanced across the back of the van and caught Annabeth's eye, giving her friend a smile and letting her gratitude show plainly on her face. Annabeth seemed to understand. She smiled back and nodded encouragingly.

For the rest of the drive, Reyna didn't worry about what would happen in the future. She only felt the present, and the warm, reassuring company of the people who'd risked their lives to help her save the person she loved most.

Looking around at them all, Reyna smiled. Maybe these Olympus guys weren't so bad after all.

* * *

 **Told you things would pick up. Now we're halfway through this story, but there are still a few more big scenes like this one coming up. Like I said earlier, the second half of this is a lot more consistently exciting than the first. Oh, well.**

 **So how about a review? Anybody have as much fun reading this one as I did writing it? Haha :D**

 **Later days!**

 **-oMM**


	11. Weightless

**Hey yo :D Happy Tuesday! Thanks to those of you who reviewed last chapter. I meant to get this up yesterday, but my internet at work wasn't working well. This one's shorter and duller than the last, but it needs to be here. I have the next one mostly done, if it's any consolation, so it should be up by Friday. It's a good deal longer.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Because the **world** is just a teller and we are _wearing black_ masks / "You **broke** our _spirit_ ," says the note we pass

* * *

Despite bruised ribs, bullet grazes, tired muscles, an extreme headache, and the complete lack of energy in her body, Annabeth felt fantastic.

Until now, she hadn't realized how heavy the guilt she'd been carrying really was. But now that the load was lifted, her body felt oddly weightless, as though gravity had completely lost its effect on her. Throughout the CIA infiltration her focus had been set, but somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that the mission could have failed any number of ways. And since it was her idea, that would have made it her fault. But amazingly, it had worked. They'd found Leo, alive and—oh, not exactly _well_ , but definitely alive. She'd promised Reyna she would do whatever it took to get him back, and she'd succeeded. And the realization that, even somewhat, she'd been able to make up for her past mistakes was enough to blot out the soreness and exhaustion she herself was feeling. She hadn't felt that good in quite a long time.

The elation still hadn't worn off by the time the group made it back to the Marten in Queens, the safest place to get their injuries treated without having to fear CIA retaliation. Percy had called ahead to inform Paul and Tammy Archer, who were overseeing things at the Marten, that they were on their way. Despite the late hour, they found three of Olympus's leaders waiting for them in the lobby when they arrived—Tammy, Harrison Stoll, and Hank Beckendorf.

"Welcome back," Harrison, A/K/A Hermes, greeted them all. His tone was stiff and impersonal but the gleam in his dark blue eyes was a clear mixture of relief and pride. "And let me be the first to say, excellent work. Tonight was a major victory for the organization."

"Indeed," Tammy—Artemis to her organization trainees—agreed with a nod of approval as Harrison checked his sons over for signs of injury. "With luck, they'll think twice before striking us so close to home again."

"Couldn't have pulled it off without you guys' help," Percy said, grinning. "Especially you, Hank. I know how busy you are, and that stuff you gave us really came in handy."

Codename Hephaestus grunted in reply. "Well, you know. Anything for family." His beady eyes shot toward Leo, who was still unconscious and being supported by both Percy and Reyna. "That's the guy, yeah? Doesn't look good. Need help gettin' him down to medical?"

"Yeah, thanks," Percy told Hank as the burly engineer came forward and scooped Leo as up as easily as he might lift a shopping bag.

"You'd all better go along," Harrison suggested with a frown. His eyes surveyed them as he added, "Some of you look like you could use medical attention, too."

As most of the group headed for the nearest elevator, Annabeth looked up at Percy to see him staring at the carpet, a pained look on his face. "Family…" he repeated sullenly.

Annabeth bit her lip. She thought she knew what he was thinking about, but he needed some fixing up as well before anything else happened.

She stepped in front of him and reached toward his face, pushing some stray hair from his forehead and gently touching the nasty-looking cut on his cheekbone. When he flinched, she smiled sadly. "Come on. Let's go get this cleaned up. Then we can… visit your dad."

His expression tightened when he looked at her, telling her she'd been on the mark with that assumption. For a second she feared he would argue, but instead he said tiredly, "Okay. Let's go." Relieved, Annabeth took his hand and led him to the elevators.

-0-0-0-

Despite being in New York for over a week, Annabeth hadn't yet been to see Percy's father Parker in his room beneath the apartment complex. She'd been busy, after all, preparing for their trip to Langley. And the east-coast head of Olympus had had more important visitors. But with her immediate business taken care of, and the dead-of-night activity lull inside the facility, that night finally provided her an opportunity. So after getting her own injuries checked and bandaged up, and changing out of her First Energy jumpsuit and into a much more comfortable ensemble of yoga pants and a sweatshirt, she stopped by Parker's room to find it empty save for the man himself.

Annabeth didn't know codename Poseidon all that well, having only met him a couple of times. But the one thing she'd always remembered most about him was his natural air of calm power—like an ocean about to storm. She'd never seen him angry, but she knew without a doubt how dangerous and terrifying his fury would be. He was strong, just like his late brother, but in a more controlled way.

Perhaps that was why seeing him lying comatose in the bed was so odd to her. He looked like the same man—short-cut black hair brushed with gray above his ears, sun-darkened skin the color of baked clay, once-stern facial lines wrinkled around the eyes from countless smiles. But even among the similarities he was different. His warm, sea-green eyes that looked so much like Percy's were closed, his dark gray eyebrows knitted loosely nearer in subconscious pain. It seemed bizarre to Annabeth that this was the same man who'd welcomed her into Olympus less than three months ago, who'd assured her that her part in Ezekiel Grace's assassination would remain secret. She didn't feel sorrow or loss looking at him now, despite however much she thought she should. It was just that strange.

For a long while she simply sat quietly in Parker's room, watching his chest bob with breath and his eyes shift behind their lids. It made her think about her own father—something she hadn't done since she was very small. She'd never met the man, at least not that she could remember, so the concept was relatively alien to her. All she'd had growing up was her mother, Adelyn. Her mother had been all she'd needed. What was the point in pining after some guy who'd left her long ago? Who might not have even known she existed? Staring at Parker, Annabeth tried to imagine how she would feel were she to discover that her mother was sick and possibly dying. Two years ago, she was sure news of Adelyn Chase's demise would not have affected her too deeply for too long. Now, however, after making amends with the woman who'd raised her, things were different.

Still, even though Annabeth had experienced loss in her life, she didn't know firsthand what it was like to lose a family member, one of the people you loved most. But Percy… He'd lost a brother. He'd lost two close cousins. And now he was losing his father. She glanced at Parker's eyelids—hiding irises identical to those of the man she loved—and for a heartbreaking second imagined that it was Percy lying there dying. It was the only way she could entertain the extent of his pain, and it was awful. She'd felt it for a second during the dream she'd had on the way to Las Vegas, when she'd watched Victor Kronos force-feed her fiancé a bullet. She never wanted to experience it in real life.

Annabeth was so busy breathing deeply and reminding herself that that was only a fantasy that she jumped when the door finally opened and Percy stepped inside. He'd discarded his stolen security guard uniform in favor of faded jeans and a dark green pullover hoodie. His stature was stooped a bit from weariness and his eyes seemed to droop too far down his face.

When he saw her, he gave her a tired smile. "Sorry." He gestured vaguely to the thick wad of gauze attached with medical tape to the side of his face. "Had to get this one stitched. How long you been here?"

Annabeth glanced at the clock. "About an hour. It's okay, though. Some quiet time has been kind of nice after tonight."

"Not a lie," Percy agreed, rubbing his neck. Movements heavy with exhaustion, he pushed the door closed and trudged across the room, taking the bedside seat next to Annabeth. He didn't even look at his father, just hunched forward with a sigh and rested his face in his hands.

Frowning in sympathy, Annabeth scooted her chair closer and slid her arms around him, resting her head on the back of his shoulder. "I know you're worried," she said gently. "And that's okay. Nobody expects you to be all stone-willed about this. But… with everything that's going on… I think you need to consider all possible outcomes."

He breathed out shortly. "I know."

"What are you gonna do if he…?"

His shoulders tensed. "I don't know. Somebody's gonna need to take over, but… It's so dangerous lately and everyone already has enough on their plates. I can't ask any of them to… I mean, not if it'll just…" He shook his head uselessly and fell silent.

Squeezing his arm reassuringly, she said softly, "Talk to me."

He dropped his hands and stared at the floor. He took a slow breath and she felt his muscles expand and contract. Then he turned his head to the side, meeting her gaze, and muttered, "Tell me you don't hate this as much as I do."

She shifted to a more upright position and frowned. He had a wounded sort of look in his tired eyes, but she was aware of a bitter edge to his voice, a hidden harshness even he might not have noticed. She could tell he wasn't just referring to the situation with his father.

"What do you mean?"

The stitch between his eyebrows crept downward into a scowl. "I don't know. I've got this feeling—this… weight. Inside me. And it won't go away. I'm scared, and I'm angry, and I can't help but feel like all these random unseen forces are out to destroy everything I have." He hung his head with a derisive smirk and scoffed. "Is that stupid? It sounds stupid."

Annabeth smiled wryly and admitted, "A little, yeah."

Percy shook his head, pressing a hand to his forehead. "All I want to do is protect my family. But this war is… It's making that impossible. Grover told me to take things slow—one problem at a time. But that won't be an option forever."

Annabeth retracted her arm enough to rub soothing circles on her fiancé's back. "You're thinking too much," she told him. "I know this isn't over, but you need to relax a little. Tonight was good. We got Leo back and everyone made it out okay. We should be celebrating, at least for a bit. Can't we just… take the win?"

Apparently this was the wrong thing to say. Percy tensed and shot to his feet, rounding on Annabeth with a glare in his eyes as she straightened, startled.

"No, we can't," he shot back. "One win isn't a victory. It's just a break between losses. Kronos hit us. We hit him back. Well, guess what comes next?" He turned in a huff and paced toward the wall opposite Parker's bed, wringing his hands agitatedly. "We're digging in deeper here and soon there won't be a way back up."

With a steadying breath Annabeth stood up. She knew from speaking with Grover how volatile Percy's mental state had been in recent weeks, and if she was honest the news had sort of scared her. But meeting with Jason had appeared to help him. And he'd seemed fine during the CIA infiltration, if a little understandably tense. Had something happened during the commotion to set him off? Or was this simply a culmination of stress he'd been hiding as they prepared for the operation? Either way, she would have to be careful what she said.

"Look," she began tentatively. "I know what's at stake—"

"Do you?" he cut her off immediately, turning to face her. She tried not to shrink back at the accusatory look on his face. "This is my family we're talking about. You don't even _have_ a family!"

Annabeth flinched, Percy's sharp voice cutting into her like a knife to the gut. She knew he didn't mean to snipe at her, but that didn't mean she was totally okay with it.

Some mild shock and hurt must have shown on her face, because his angry expression melted. His fists unclenched at his sides and he grimaced like he was in pain, fingers twitching.

"No—I'm sorry," he relented. "That's not what I meant—"

"Enough. I'm not gonna listen to this." Annabeth felt a glare harden her own features. Percy glanced down, avoiding her eyes, and she noticed him grit his teeth as his breathing seemed to speed up. His hands trembled has he clasped them together. He was losing it again—but she wasn't about to let that happen. She stood up straighter, pushing back her shoulders and letting determination flood her.

"I'm not gonna let you stand here and push me away," she told him stonily. " _Stop_ focusing on how much our situation sucks right now and listen to me. I know exactly what's at stake here because I _do_ have a family. _You._ "

Now it was his turn to cringe like he'd been stabbed. Annabeth took a step toward him and forged on, "You don't think I'm scared to death of what might happen to you? You're the _leader_ of Olympus, you moron! Kronos knows you by name! He wants you dead! I should be more afraid than anyone!"

His eyes flashed as he demanded in a shaky voice, "So why aren't you?"

"Who says I'm not?" she shot back. "I'm freaking terrified! You're right about one thing, I don't know what it feels like to lose a member of your family. And I never want to find out. Because just imagining it is bad enough. I think of you getting killed and it hurts worse than any pain I've ever felt. I know you want to protect the people you love. I know you're scared you won't be able to. But I'm telling you worrying about it won't make the fight any easier. If anything, it'll only make things worse. I mean… look at you. You're a mess."

He chuckled weakly at the floor, some of the tightness in his body seeming to recede. "Gee, thanks."

Annabeth smiled. She reached up to brush Percy's bangs aside—a favorite habit of hers—and he lifted his head to meet her eyes as she said softly, "I don't like seeing you like this any more than you do. But the only way I can think to help you is… by being here. And making sure you're here for _me_." She took both his hands in hers and guided his fingertips to the diamond-faced engagement ring on her left hand. "You and I are in it for the long run, remember? Any problems you have you can share with me. We're a team. I've learned lately that expecting bad things to happen is the same as asking them to. We can't let heavy stuff like fear weigh us down. We have to stay focused on our goal, otherwise we'll never reach it. And we _have_ to do it together."

He seemed much calmer now, which made her heart leap happily in her chest. When he smiled, she could tell it was real.

"I love you," he said simply, tightening his grip on her hands.

"I know. I love you, too." She grinned and stood on tiptoe to press a kiss to his lips. "But don't scare me like that anymore. Next time I'm not talking you down. I'll go straight to knocking you out."

He laughed, and a comfortable warmth bubbled inside her. "Yes, ma'am."

He let her guide him back to his father's bedside and the chairs they'd abandoned. She pulled his arm around her shoulders and leaned into him, smiling as he brushed his fingers through her dyed hair.

"So now what?" Annabeth wondered aloud after a moment of silence. Reveling in their success was all well and good, but they needed a plan of action. As he'd said, the war wasn't over just because they got the jump on their opponents one time. She had to take her own advice and stay focused.

She glanced up to see Percy watching his sleeping father, a troubled frown on his face. "In Langley," he replied, "Atlas said… 'your band of thieves isn't as safe in New York as you think they are'. I don't know if he knows where we are or if he was just trying to scare me, but… either way, I think we should do something about it. I don't want to take any chances. Well—not any more than I've already taken."

Annabeth wondered to herself if this chat with Atlas was what had made Percy so suddenly nervous. "You mean, go into hiding?"

"Not everyone—I don't want to run the risk of taking my dad or anyone else down here to a public hospital. But if we clear most of the building, send people to a safe place… If only a few of us stayed behind for security, I think we'd have the advantage."

"Advantage…" She stared at a spot on the ground, chewing the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. Trading blows with the agency would get them nowhere in the long run. They had to change the game somehow. "You know what you said a minute ago, about us and them taking turns attacking each other? They're up next, but… what if we can use that against them? Keep the upper hand?"

She sat up straight as he twisted around to narrow his eyes at her. "Meaning…?"

"You and I are the ones they're after. If we can draw them out," Annabeth suggested, recalling the con artistry she'd employed during her days as an assassin. "Get them to chase us somewhere safer for us, away from here. Somewhere they think they're catching us off guard."

"Some place we control…" Percy added, catching on, "that they don't _know_ we control."

"Exactly. It might give us just the advantage we need. We can take another small team—nobody else has to get hurt."

He nodded. "I like the sound of that."

"I thought you would." She squeezed his hand. "We should do it soon, though, before they decide to strike here. So… you don't happen to know of a place like that, do you?"

It was a bit of a long shot, but when Percy smirked Annabeth couldn't help a smile.

"I've got an idea," he told her, the gleam in his eyes making him look instantly more alert. "I'll need to fly out to L.A. in the morning—pay a visit to my Uncle Harley. But if he'll help, I think it'll work."

She tilted her head. "What is it?"

He gave her a sideways glance a grin. "It's been a while since we did anything fun together. How do you feel about a rock concert?"

* * *

 **Heh.**

 **So I'll try to get 12 up by the end of the week, since I'm going out of town on a business trip next week and won't be able to work on this at all. Fingers crossed.**

 **Later days!**

 **-oMM**


	12. Deal

**What up dogs? Happy Thursday! Since that last chapter was kind of lame, here's another, which is longer and (I think, at least) more interesting. Not something you guys didn't see coming, of course, but hopefully fun all the same.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

So we can take the **world** back from the _heart_ -attacked / One **maniac** at a time, we will _take it back_  
You know time _crawls on_ when you're waiting for the **song** to start / So dance **alone** to the _beat_ of your heart

* * *

 _Bip…Bip…Bip…_

The repetitive sound of the heart monitor was really starting to get on Leo's nerves. It was like someone was holding a tin can beside his ear and flicking it with their fingernail every few seconds. The noise seemed to reverberate inside his head, making his teeth chatter and his eardrums ring. Sure, it wasn't _that_ loud objectively speaking. But after a few hours of constant _bip-bip-_ ing he really just wished it would shut up.

Admittedly, though, he supposed it was better than the dead-quiet cell he'd been made to call home for the past week and a half. At least the hospital room had some character. And some light. Light was good.

For some reason, though, it felt odd being free again. Almost like a dream, like he'd imagined the whole Olympus rescue in an effort to escape the stress he was under. Part of him wondered still if maybe he'd just finally lost his mind altogether. It was a scary thought, for sure. Fortunately, a bigger part of him had decided that it didn't matter—real or not, recovering in Olympus's private underground medical facility was way better than slowly dying in a CIA holding cell.

"Leo? Hello?"

The sound of someone snapping their fingers made Leo jump and look around. To the right of the bed on which he sat, Reyna was leaning toward him with a troubled expression.

She'd finally been allowed in to see him shortly after the doctor had finished running some tests and gone off to review the results. She'd kept her cool relatively well—typical Reyna—but knowing her as he did, Leo could tell how relieved she was that he was awake. Not that his physical state provided much to be relieved about, he figured—he pretty much hurt all over. He still couldn't put weight on his right leg. His entire left arm was in a stiff splint, owing to his broken wrist and torn shoulder ligaments. His right arm was permanently tense and tingly. Each breath drew small tendrils of pain across his ribs. He was exhausted, sore, nauseous, and couldn't decide if that meant he wanted to sleep, eat, or throw up. Maybe all three at once.

Yeah, those last few days with Atlas hadn't exactly been a fun time.

Leo turned his attention back to Reyna, who was waiting for an answer. "Sorry," he told her with a weak grin (all of his muscles, including those required to smile properly, were still extremely heavy and tired; it took a lot of effort just to lift a few fingers). "Spaced out for a sec. What were you saying?"

She leaned back in her seat, but her dark eyes continued to search him critically. "Are you sure you're okay?" she asked carefully. "I mean—"

"I know what you mean."

He avoided her gaze, staring instead at the corner of his bed. This time she wasn't referring to any physical injuries. Though it was difficult and painful, he tightened a fist around the bronze Zippo lighter in his hand—the one Reyna had mercifully returned to him earlier that morning. He was pretty sure his fingers didn't have the strength to light it, but just holding onto it was effective enough. A bit of the brittle feeling that had been branching farther through his mind in recent weeks faded, like the tiny cracks were filling back in.

"I'm okay," he forced out after a long moment. "Honestly, though… I think I almost wasn't. If you'd shown up any later…" He chuckled uneasily, as if that were some sort of joke—then stopped himself immediately.

Reyna released a slow breath, and Leo chanced a glance up to see a tiny smile tugging at her lips. "Then it's a good thing we didn't," was all she said, to his relief.

"How'd you get them to help?" he asked, fishing for a subtle change of subject. Not that he wasn't curious—this was Olympus they were talking about. In his experience, they weren't the most model of citizens.

She shrugged. "It was Annabeth's idea, actually. She, Piper, and I chased Atlas for weeks, looking for you. Then when we lost you, she decided the only thing left to do was… break into the CIA."

Leo raised his eyebrows, impressed. "I knew I always liked those girls."

"Same here," Reyna agreed with a smirk. "Olympus is… Well, they're not what I expected. They're different. Better."

Leo felt his grin falter. "Yeah, some of 'em are definitely alright. But I'd… still kind of like to get out of here as soon as we can. Not that I'm not grateful for what they did for me," he added hastily as Reyna frowned at him, "but it just… feels weird, being here. Wrong, somehow, I don't know. I don't like it."

"Don't you think you're being a little harsh?" she suggested.

He scowled. "You know why I—actually… you don't. Not all of it, not anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean…" Hesitantly, he thought back on his more recent conversations with Duke Atlas (if they could be called 'conversations') and the new information the Deputy Director had been kind enough to give him. It had been the source of much confusion and doubt for him lately, but he figured that after everything that had happened Reyna deserved to know as well, so he responded, "I think I have more history with Olympus than I originally knew about."

Reyna shifted in her seat. "Care to elaborate on that?"

She listened quietly as Leo recounted for her what he'd learned after their trip to his hometown—how Atlas had uncovered evidence that his mother, Esperanza, had been blackmailing someone from Olympus for years before her death. Now, weeks later, both he and Atlas were still in the dark as to the reason. He'd been reluctant to believe it at first—for all he knew, the information could have been some ridiculous interrogation technique, some kind of mind game the Deputy Director was playing with him. But as the days had passed and he'd continued to dwell on the possibility, his uncertainty had grown. Now, he'd more or less accepted it as fact—he was tied to the organization. He just wished he understood why.

"Wow," Reyna summed up aptly. A slight frown drew her eyebrows close, but otherwise she looked stunned. "I… I don't know what to say."

"Yeah," Leo agreed with a wry smirk. "Welcome to my confusion."

They were both spared from having to solve that immediate problem when the door across the room suddenly opened and two men stepped inside. The first was the same doctor who'd visited before—a lean man in his late forties with sandy hair and sharp, goldenrod eyes. He wore a white medical coat over jeans and a T-shirt, not exactly standard. His nametag read _Archer_ —no 'Dr.', no indication if that was a first name, last name, or nickname. Just the word _Archer_.

The other guy was about the same age, but was huge, burly, and darker-skinned. A curly black beard obscured most of his face, save for a pair of beady black eyes. Once inside, he stood by the door and folded his thick arms across his chest, so Leo figured he was some sort of security detail.

"Well, kid," the doctor began conversationally, flipping a page on the clipboard in his hand, "there's good news and bad news." He stopped at the foot of the bed and looked up. "Which do you want first?"

Leo considered the question and replied, "The bad news." Things were pretty bad already, after all. Might as well go for the gold.

"You're not dying," Archer said with a cheery grin.

"What?" Leo yelped, surprised. "How is that bad?"

Archer blinked and looked at his clipboard. "Oh, sorry—that was the _good_ news. My bad."

Reyna raised a skeptical eyebrow. " _That's_ the good news?"

"Well, yeah. It's good, isn't it?"

"So what's the bad news?" Leo asked impatiently.

"Right." Archer's eyes scanned his clipboard. "Here's the list. First and foremost, your entire muscular system is fried from severe overdose of carisoprodol. I'm gonna have to keep you on it in small doses for a little while to fight off the addiction your body has started to develop to the drug, but I'm confident we can keep it under control. The worst of the damage isn't permanent, but you won't get full mobility back for a good five or six weeks. Even then, I'd strongly advise against any heavy lifting—probably ever again. Especially with your right arm, where the damage seems to be the most severe. Too much muscle strain could result in paralysis, which I'm sure is something you'd like to avoid."

Leo felt his throat tighten—his job, which he loved more than pretty much everything except Reyna, involved an awful lot of muscle strain and heavy lifting. Would he have to give that up completely?

"Besides that, though, it's not too serious," Archer went on. "That wrist will heal in two to three months, quicker if you take extra care of it. We stitched up your shoulder so the tendons should reattach as long as you don't move it too much. You've got a grand total of five cracked ribs—two on your left, three on your right—but fortunately none were broken so badly that they caused any organ damage, aside from some slight bruising to your right kidney. That'll heal, again, as long as you keep activity to a minimum. Expect quite a few stomachaches in the near future, but no long-term changes. The bullet wound in your leg does have a minor infection, which will definitely need treatment, but it didn't strike the bone so that'll cut back on recovery time. You'll be walking again in ten to fourteen days, I'd bet."

Leo swallowed uncomfortably. In an attempt at a humored tone, he said, "So, in short—I'm a mess."

"Basically," Archer agreed. "But a mess we can clean up. Any hospital could do it, of course, but given the, uh… sensitive situation we're in, it's probably best you keep your name out of the system. Don't want them tracking you down again."

"Right. Of course not."

"I've scheduled you for surgery on that leg tonight at eleven forty-five. Until then, just sit tight and take it easy. Hank and I'll be back around that time to get you prepped and moved to the OR."

The bodyguard nodded his assent, and Leo concluded that he must have been Hank.

"Okay. Thanks," he told the doctor.

Archer smiled and nodded, and the two men turned to go.

Leo sighed dejectedly. "Guess I'm up for some serious career reevaluation."

"I'm sorry," Reyna said with a pained grimace. "I can't believe this happened. Maybe if we'd found you sooner…"

"No, don't," he said firmly before she could finish that thought. "If you start feeling guilty, it'll make _me_ feel guilty, and… I just don't think I can take any more guilt, okay?" His hand unconsciously squeezed his lighter again, drawing Reyna's eyes. "It's bad enough I'm mad at myself for resenting my mom and her secrets. I mean, what kind of person does that? She sacrificed everything for me—at least that's what I thought." He shook his head bitterly. "I should trust her, but… I feel like I can't anymore."

"You can always trust your mother," a deep, rough voice interrupted, making Leo and Reyna both jump. Looking up, they saw that the bodyguard, Hank, was still in the room, standing stiffly by the door. Was he supposed to keep watch on them or something?

"Uh…" Leo said blankly, caught off guard.

Hank ignored him and went on, "Moms are good people, they are. Always looking out for their kids. If she done anything wrong by you, she would've had good reason. That's for sure."

The guy must've had some sort of maternal complex, Leo assumed—softer than he looked. Not that he was against a little reassurance, but it didn't exactly help, coming from this random beefcake Olympus had stowed in his room.

"Nice of you to say," he told the man, "but you didn't know her. And I'm starting to think I didn't, either."

He thought the tone of finality in his voice was enough of a hint to stay out of his and Reyna's conversation, but the way the guy's dark eyes studied him beneath slanted, bushy eyebrows gave him pause. The man looked distinctly calculative, like he was considering whether or not starting an argument with a slightly-dazed invalid was worth the trouble.

Apparently it was, as Hank opened his mouth again and said stiffly through his beard, "I knew her better than you think. …But not as well as I would've liked."

Leo's train of thought crumbled to a heap of rubble. "…What?" he said slowly. That couldn't have meant what it sounded like.

Hank sighed heavily as if in defeat, gaze dropping to the floor. "Esperanza was… She was honest," he went on, while Leo casually had a minor heart attack at the sound of his mother's name. "And spirited. And one of the realest people I ever knew."

Reyna reached over and gripped Leo's wrist, but he barely felt it. Staring wide-eyed at Hank, he said, "Wait, you… you _really_ knew her?"

Hank gave a short nod.

"Who are you?"

"Hank Beckendorf," the man said gruffly. "Some call me Hephaestus. I'm Olympus's chief equipment specialist, been with the organization long as I can remember."

"Whoa. So… my mom _was_ involved with…" Shaking aside the shock, Leo realized that this was exactly the opportunity he'd been wishing for. He wanted answers, and here they were, standing cross-armed in his hospital room. "Okay—so what did she know? Why was she blackmailing you guys?"

Hank's eyes narrowed, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Blackmail? She never…" He broke off, dropping his arms to his sides. "The money," he realized. "You know about that?"

"The CIA found out," Leo explained. "They thought I knew something, tried to… you know, force it out of me." He winced as a few memories surfaced, the fingers on his right hand twitching with phantom pain. "But… I didn't have…"

To his slight surprise, Hank chuckled ruefully, shaking his head. "Evil thing, irony. Ugly." His gaze rose to meet Leo as the mechanic narrowed his eyes. Was it his imagination, or was there pain the older man's eyes? "That money was meant to help you. Instead it got you hurt."

"Help… me?"

"She didn't blackmail anybody. Didn't even want the money at first. Took me a while to convince her to take it."

"You?" Leo repeated blankly, feeling like he was only getting half of a very important conversation.

"She didn't want you anywhere near the organization," Hank elaborated. "And I get it. But that didn't mean I was just gonna forget you two. Helpin' out from a distance like that, financially… Keeping you comfortable… It was the only way I could be part of your life." His beady eyes turned misty, as though he were looking into the past. His beard twitched as though beneath it he was smiling. "And Esperanza, good woman that she was… she understood that. She even… sent me pictures of you now and then. So I could see how you grew up, you know." His gaze cleared and landed on Leo, who'd somehow forgotten how to breathe properly. "She said you got my eyes, but… I think she was just bein' nice." Reyna gasped and threw a hand over her mouth, but Hank didn't seem to notice. "The way I hear it, though," he continued, puffing out his oversized chest, "you did get my skill with machinery."

Across the room, Leo's vision was swimming. He was smart enough to have put two and two together by now, but that sure as heck didn't mean accepting it was quite as easy. "You're… You're crazy," he muttered shakily.

Hank chuckled as though amused by Leo's very obvious discomfort. "I definitely got some screws loose upstairs, can't argue with you there." Then he stood up straight and his expression sobered. "…But it's the truth, all of it." His deep voice lowered quietly when he said, "You're my son, Leo. I'm your father."

Leo stared open-mouthed at Hank, feeling a little bit like he'd just been stabbed in the throat. He'd wanted answers, alright, and he'd thought he was ready for whatever this guy dropped on him. Well, so much for _that_ assumption. A _father?_ And a high-ranking member of Olympus, to boot? Way out of left field.

"How…?" he forced out, unable to wrap his mind around a complete sentence. "I don't… Why…?"

"Lot of questions, I know," Hank guessed. "But the main thing is, I don't want you thinkin' I didn't love her. 'Cause I did. I'd just lost my wife when I got sent down south on business and things weren't going so hot. But when I met Esperanza… Well, she helped me a lot. You know how she was. Real down to earth, and all that. She turned me round, and I fell for her. Told her everything. And then I got called back home, and that was it. Didn't even know she was pregnant 'til after I left town."

"Stop," Leo interrupted, at last finding his voice. It was like this random stranger all of a sudden knew more about his life than he did, and he didn't like it. "Just stop—stop… talking about this like it just… happened."

Hank sighed. "It did happen."

"Then why didn't I know?" Leo demanded, looking up at the man. He was surprised by how thick his voice suddenly sounded—how pained. "Why didn't she tell me?"

Hank scratched his curly beard. "I think she meant to when you were older, if she'd got the chance. But like I said, she didn't want you involved with the organization. She just wanted to protect you, kid—just did what she thought was best. Irony of ironies, though, is you sittin' right here, in the basement of Parker's building. All she wanted was to keep you safe, far away from all this. Must'a been fate, though, since you ended up getting involved anyway."

"Yeah," Leo grumbled with a scowl, irritation burning his insides like acid. "When your old boss got me arrested."

"Hey, I had no part in that," Hank said firmly, eyes hardening. "I didn't even know until it was too late. I've regretted telling Zeke about you and your mom ever since. When that man had leverage over somebody, he wasn't afraid to use it. I learned that the hard way."

"Wait." Leo could hardly believe what he was hearing. "He went back on that deal with me… because of you?"

Hank shifted his weight, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "If you're gonna be angry with me," he said carefully, "you might as well have all the reasons. What happened to your mom… That was my fault, too."

Again Reyna reached over and grabbed Leo by the wrist, but this time he wondered if it was to keep him from trying to jump out of bed and throttle the man in front of him. "What?" he said, voice as tense as a taut wire about to snap.

"The fire was no accident," Hank explained, his words seeming to bring a chill to the air. "A group we used to do business with—big falling out a bit before, whole thing was ugly—found out I'd been there. They went to her shop lookin' for information, torched the place when she wouldn't give 'em what they wanted. I made sure they got what was coming to 'em after that, you can be sure…"

He paused and glanced at Leo as though expecting a 'thank you', but none was forthcoming. Those were probably the farthest two words from Leo's mind.

"But, well," Hank went on awkwardly, "it's still my biggest regret to date. Between that and what Zeke did to you… I been wishing for years things could've gone different. I wanted to get in touch with you so many times. But I held back, respected your mom's wishes. Lot of good it did. I mean, look at you."

He gestured weakly to Leo's generally unfortunate physical state, but the vague wave felt oddly like a slap in the face. And it just made Leo angrier.

"I don't expect things to change," Hank continued when no one interrupted him. "But you deserved to know. If something had happened to you in Langley… If you hadn't come back and I'd never let you know… Well, I couldn't forgive myself. Not ever."

Something inside Leo snapped at that admission. "Oh, you came clean so you can _forgive yourself?_ " he snarled. "Great! Go ahead! Everything's fine now that I know the truth, right?" He sensed Reyna turn and shoot him a warning look, but he didn't care. He'd had enough. He was done listening to this guy unload a lifetime's worth of grievances in some misguided attempt to make up for past mistakes. He glared fiercely at Hank and demanded, "Hey, while we're at it, any other screw-ups you want to get off your chest? That's the idea, isn't it? Say whatever it takes to make yourself feel better? Well, that's fine! Throw the pain at me if you can't deal with it anymore—"

Leo froze, throat constricting like invisible hands were trying to strangle him. His own words slammed against the inside of his skull, temporarily blinding him and bringing him to a slightly horrifying realization.

"Leo?" Reyna said tentatively, her voice low and whispery. Leo didn't respond—didn't even move. He was busy struggling with what his brain was trying to tell him.

After a long period of extremely tense silence, Hank said haltingly, "I know it don't mean much… Hell, it might mean nothin' at all. But I'm sorry."

Leo's lungs seemed to have tied themselves in a knot, but he managed to choke out, "Get out of here."

When nothing happened, Leo forced himself to look at Hank. The man was looking back at him with a pained expression—shameful, even—which somehow gave him a boost of stability to add, "I'm serious, dude. Leave."

Hank breathed out slowly, lowering his gaze to the floor. "Alright," he relented with a nod. "I'll be around a while longer, if you ever… You know."

This time Leo didn't respond, and at last Hank turned and left the room.

Reyna turned away from the door. "Leo…"

"You too," he told her without looking her way. The last few minutes had been way too much for him to process. He needed to forget about all of it for a while, and he couldn't do that with her there.

But evidently Reyna didn't agree. "No," she argued at once, her voice taking on that no-nonsense tone she typically reserved for two situations—dealing with unruly students, and forcing Leo to confront his problems. She slid to the edge of her seat and held his arm with both hands. "I'm not leaving you alone with this," she promised. "I know you. You won't face it. And I think you need to."

"That's the problem!" he blurted out, turning to face her. "I'm…" He grimaced, ice coating his insides as he admitted the observation he'd been loath to accept a second ago, "I'm just like him, Reyna."

Her brow creased in confusion. "What?"

"I'm defensive. And cold. I can't handle—" Leo faltered, voice cracking. He _hated_ talking about his disorder more than anything. He knew logically that that reluctance was just another symptom, but it didn't change how it made him feel—weak, damaged; like something in his life was broken and rather than dwell on it he had to force himself to be happy and funny so no one—not even he—would notice. It was something he'd dealt with for years. He used to think it had developed sometime after his mother's tragedy. Never before, however, had he considered the possibility that it was something he'd inherited from his long-lost father.

And then enter Hank Beckendorf, Olympus big-shot with—apparently—a very similar problem. The man had provided a believable story and a lot of evidence, of course, but _that_ , more than anything, proved to Leo that it was true—that he really was the son of one the organization's leaders. Inside, they were too much alike. He was connected to Olympus, alright, but in a much deeper way than he'd previously thought.

For a second he thought of Atlas and was suddenly glad the Deputy Director hadn't discovered that particular bit of information. If he had, Leo probably would've been dead weeks ago. Just another tidbit he really didn't want to think about.

When he never resumed his halting explanation, Reyna breathed out shortly. A troubled expression on her face, she got up just long enough to sit beside him on the bed and curled her arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a tight embrace.

"Don't you dare shut down on me," she breathed in his ear. "Not now. For a second back at the CIA last night I thought I'd lost you, and… it was terrifying, okay? I don't want to see that again."

She squeezed him tighter and the pressure aggravated his various injuries, but he'd grown so used to pain that he barely noticed. Much more important were the warmth of her body and the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against his chest. Those were things he hadn't felt in far too long. It was effectively calming, he had to admit, despite how broken-up he'd felt mere seconds ago.

When Reyna drew back to look Leo in the eyes, he saw a touch of desperation in her expression. "I _need_ you to talk to me," she said pleadingly. "I can't take the alternative, Leo, I really can't."

"I…" he stammered, the look on her face making him feel guilty. She was right, he needed to say something. The only problem was, he had no idea where to go from there. What was he supposed to say—supposed to _think_ after all this?

Reyna bit her lip, shoulders drooping. "Give me that," she muttered, grabbing Leo's right hand in both of hers. She pulled at his fingers, loosening the fist he'd clenched around his lighter, and took the metallic object from his grip. He experienced a brief second of helpless loss before she lifted it between the two of them and popped the lid, flicking the hatch to ignition.

The sight of the fire burned through the fog in Leo's mind and halted his frenzied thoughts. Suddenly everything was clear. The small bit of doubt he'd held onto that none of this was real vanished and he realized just how insane his situation really was. There was no way his imagination could concoct a scene like the one he'd just witnessed with Hank. It was really happening, so what was the use in pretending it wasn't? Wouldn't his time be better spent accepting it and figuring out how to deal?

A small smile tugged at Leo's lips as he felt himself relax. He reached up and closed the lighter, glancing back to Reyna's eyes. Her gaze narrowed suspiciously, but before she could inquire he leaned forward and kissed her. He was ridiculously lucky to have her in his life—she always seemed to know exactly what to do. If it wasn't for her, he had a feeling he'd have gone crazy a long, long time ago.

"Okay," she admitted with a half-smile as they separated. "Point taken. Not talking is good, too."

Leo sat up straight and took a deep breath, wincing as his pain shot across his ribcage. Just another reminder that despite the good that had happened in the past few hours, he still had a lot of bad to deal with.

When he turned back to look at Reyna, she was watching him patiently, waiting for his cue to resume their conversation. Locking eyes with her, he said resolutely, "My mother… was involved with Olympus long before I was."

She nodded. "Yes, she was."

"She lied about it to protect me."

"She did."

"But now that I know the truth… I can't run from them anymore. They're… a part of me. They always have been, and they always will be. And that's okay."

Reyna smiled, pride in her eyes. "Yeah, it is. It _is_ okay." She scooted closer and pulled him into another slightly-painful-yet-totally-worth-it hug, saying over his shoulder, "We'll figure this out. Together."

Leo grinned in spite of all the reasons he had to be miserable. "Yeah."

"But I'm telling you," Reyna went on diplomatically as she pulled back. "I've spent some time here. Olympus isn't what we thought, not anymore. We don't have to hate them."

"I know," Leo admitted. To his slight surprise, he meant it—already when he thought of Olympus a few emotions other than anger sprang immediately to mind. That was a good start. "It's just gonna take some getting used to."

Reyna handed Leo his lighter, and as he took it back a cool sort of electricity seemed to spark across his skin. Staring at its scuffed bronze surface, he thought back on the past few years of his life—how he and Reyna had become somewhat comfortable in Detroit, each settled into their respective careers (double careers, in his case). It hit him then that that time was over and done with. Even if they evaded or even defeated Atlas and the CIA, he was more wanted now than ever before. They couldn't go back, not ever.

"Everything's different now, huh?" he said, voice turning somber.

Reyna's smile faded. "Everything was already different," she responded. "The second Thalia and Annabeth showed up on our doorstep, our lives were never gonna be the same again. But… that doesn't have to be a bad thing. You realize what you have now, right?"

He looked up, forcing some humor into his expression. "An addiction to muscle relaxant?"

She smacked his uninjured shoulder. "A family."

As they both glanced over at the door, where Hank had been standing until a few minutes ago, he realized she was right. Olympus was a family— _his_ family, now that he fully understood his own past. Sure, the whole situation was bizarre. Things wouldn't make sense right away, maybe not for a long time. But the fact that Hank had tried to reach out to him—that was something, at least. It had to be.

He'd never minded it just being him and Reyna before. But when Leo thought about the people who'd risked everything to save him… Well, maybe expanding his definition of 'family' wouldn't be such a bad thing.

With a grin he set his lighter on the table beside his bed and pulled Reyna into another embrace—just because they hadn't seen each other in a while and had some serious quality time to catch up on. He made a silent promise to himself not to scare her anymore, and also to try and repay her team of rescuers for what they did for him. He may have been confined to that bed for a while, but that didn't mean he was totally useless. Besides, it wasn't like he had a job to get back to anymore.

And as for things with his lost-and-found dad—it was completely crazy, sure. But he would learn to deal with it somehow. One way or another, he always did.

* * *

 **Every time I write Leo and Reyna in this universe, I think about doing a spin-off book just about them since they're so fun... I'm nuts.**

 **So that's that. These two will be sticking around, of course, but the remaining chapters are all from either Percy or Annabeth's POV. This started with them, and it's gonna end with them.**

 **So like I said Monday, I'm out of town on business all next week. I'm gonna probably take my laptop and see if I have some evening hotel time to work on this, but if not then expect at least two weeks before the next update. This is a decent pausing point I feel like, though, with the next climactic battle just around the corner.**

 **How 'bout a review? Predictable chapter, I know, but I had to put it out there, haha.**

 **Later days!**

 **-oMM**


	13. Iron

**Hi gang! Everybody have a good holiday season? Sorry I was MIA for a while. Last two months were super busy for me, lot of traveling for work and then holiday stuff. Things've slowed down now though and I'm back in action. Thanks for waiting patiently!**

 **Thanks as always to everybody who reviewed last time! Short update today. Enjoy!**

* * *

Hey _young_ **blood** / Doesn't it feel like our **time** is _running out?_  
I'm gonna **change** you like a _remix_ / Then I'll _raise_ you like a **phoenix**

* * *

Visiting the Spring Street Financial District in Los Angeles always felt distinctly odd for Percy—possibly because of its indirect resemblance to the city in which he'd been born and raised. The stretch wasn't called the 'Wall Street of the West' for nothing; the high-rise buildings, busy foot traffic, and general air of hurriedness felt a lot like home. It was like looking at the financial district of Manhattan through a foggy mirror, or watching its reflection in a river dim with murk. Similar but different—two sides of the same scratched, dull-plated coin.

Not that he and Frank had a lot of time for sightseeing as they made their way down South Spring Street that Tuesday afternoon, brushing past ambling tourists and dodging agitated businessmen and women. He'd tried calling ahead to let his uncle know they were stopping by, but he'd been unable to get a hold of him. They would just have to get there as early as possible and hope the man wasn't tied up. Percy didn't expect the place to be overly populated given the time of day, but with the building's historical status one could never be too careful.

Harley owned and managed the nightclub Exchange LA near the Financial District's southern end, one of the city's most popular hangouts and—to hear him tell it—a hell of an undertaking. It was located in the renovated and refurbished former Stock Exchange building, so in addition to the two main event rooms and various smaller halls for rent, it contained a historical museum and hosted tours on a weekly basis. The demand of running the EXLA was the reason Harley rarely left Los Angeles—and the reason he often didn't take visitors.

It was barely one o'clock in the afternoon when Percy and Frank (who'd volunteered to come along as fellow negotiator and/or backup) arrived at the club. The neon spotlights above its entrance were unlit during off hours, making the building look more like the historical monument it was than the nightclub it masqueraded as—though the dim lighting in the inside front hallway made a good attempt at reversing that effect.

The heavy glass door to the executive area at the end of the first floor hall was unlocked, and pulling it open granted Frank and Percy access to a narrow, rectangular lobby housing a private elevator, numerous locked cabinets, and a single reception desk against the far wall. No one was seated behind it, but the business-casual wardrobe of the room's only occupant, who was busy rifling through a filing cabinet and looked up at the disturbance, suggested that she was probably its usual owner.

"Hello," she greeted them with a friendly smile. "Can I help you?" She was a dark-skinned young woman in her early twenties with a slight frame and a volume of curly, cinnamon-auburn hair—not someone Percy had ever seen before. She must have been his uncle's most recent personal secretary. He tended to go through them rather quickly, what with his unforgiving perfectionism.

"We're here to see Kane di Sotto." Percy dropped Harley's alias to be safe. If the woman was working this close to his uncle, she would know all about the organization. But in a place like the EXLA, it was impossible to know who else might have been listening in.

The secretary slid the cabinet drawer she was searching closed and locked it with a silver key, before stepping at a brisk pace to her desk in the corner. Dropping into the chair behind it, she asked, "Do you have an appointment?"

Frank gave Percy a doubtful look, but Percy shook his head and replied, "We don't need one."

The woman hesitated, turning away from the computer she'd just logged into with a frown. "Don't need…? I'm sorry, but it's impossible to get in to see Mr. di Sotto without…"

Her voice trailed off as Percy passed her his New York driver's license and she scanned its surface. Her eyes shot open and she gave a timid sort of squeak before continuing, "I-Impossible for anyone _else_ , I mean. But you—He's in his office upstairs, you can use the elevator. Fifth floor—of course, you probably already know that. I'll just… buzz up to let him know you're coming."

Percy grinned in relief, a bit amused by her nervous smile—like she was afraid she'd be reprimanded for trying to tell the Don of Olympus he couldn't see his own uncle. "Thanks," he told her, leading Frank to the executive elevator. Once it arrived, he saw the woman pick up her phone and dial upstairs as he pressed the button for level 5 and the doors slid closed.

"Must be good to be you," Frank noted in a humored tone as the elevator quickly ascended. "Just flash your ID and _bam_ —you're in. And getting cute girls all flustered without even trying? Not a bad perk, either."

Percy smirked in agreement. His job may have been overwhelming at times, but it definitely had its advantages. With a sideways glance at Frank, he responded, "You think she was cute?"

"Did you see her?" Frank replied wryly, lifting an eyebrow.

The elevator sounded their arrival at the fifth floor and the doors opened into a short hallway ending in a window, with a single door on the left wall. An iron plaque on its surface read _Kane di Sotto – Senior Manager_.

Percy rapped his knuckles against the door, drawing a brusque "In," from beyond it. Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Percy pushed the door open and let himself and Frank inside.

Harley Grace was alone in his office, seated at his oversized, L-shaped desk and closely studying the vast array of documents that papered two-thirds of its wooden surface. His narrow face was locked in a frown of concentration, dark eyes scanning back and forth with near-inhuman speed as he read. A few short seconds passed, during which Percy crossed his arms with mild impatience and waited, before Harley let out a rough sigh and sat up straight, turning his gaze on his new visitors.

"Nephew," he greeted Percy impersonally, not acknowledging Frank at all. "Close the door, will you? I assume by your lack of notice that this is a matter of some importance."

"You could say that," Percy agreed as Frank snapped the door closed. "If you consider our deadly war with Kronos 'important'."

Harley chuckled with dry amusement. "Ah, yes, I've heard about your reasonably-successful infiltration of their headquarters. So you've come to me for, what—some help hiding out now that the CIA is onto you?"

"Help, yes," Percy said. "Hiding, no. We've decided to stay on the offensive—to lure them out and strike them down."

At this, Harley's frown deepened. The gold and silver rings on his fingers caught and reflected the dim light as he gathered a few sheets of printed paper and formed them into a small stack. Setting it aside, he asked, "And you're here for…?"

"The right venue."

Harley's eyebrows jumped. He leaned back in his chair and said, with an edge of disbelief to his voice, "And I take it you think my club is the 'right venue'? Care to impart your reasoning?"

Percy had expected some skepticism from his uncle. It was well-known throughout the organization—when it came to his business, Harley Grace was like iron. Solid and immovable, protecting it like a shield. Percy trusted in his uncle's devotion to the organization, of course, but some persuasion would be required to bring him on board with a plan as potentially destructive as the one he had.

Pacing a few steps to his right while Frank stood stoically by the door, Percy explained, "Something Atlas told me the other day made it sound like they know where our east coast base is—or at least the general area. I know it's a war and all, but they're more focused on Annabeth and me than anyone else. We don't plan on running, but they don't exactly know that, do they? If we can make them think we're leaving the city, going somewhere safe… If they think our guard's down, they won't be suspicious when we, say, show up at a crowded concert hall in L.A."

"If you're supposed to be hiding," Harley challenged, eyes narrowing, "wouldn't it be strange to go somewhere so public? An obvious trap, perhaps?"

"Not if the one performing is my cousin."

Harley lifted his chin in understanding. "You want me to schedule a gig for Thalia's band."

"It'd give us the perfect excuse to draw them to an innocent-looking location that we have full control over. Stock the place with people we can trust, and we should have a chance to get the jump on them."

"Interesting," Harley mused with a thoughtful sideways glance. "But how do you plan on letting them know you'll be here? Anything too obvious would be highly suspicious, despite how well the pieces fit."

"We've got a mole inside the agency," Percy assured his uncle, having considered the same problem on the plane that morning. Calling a truce with Jason seemed to have more hidden benefits than he'd previously realized. "United slipped him in when they started investigating the company after Zeke. He can get the info in without raising any flags. They'll be looking for us anyway—it won't look strange if somebody actually gets a hit."

Harley nodded, looking impressed. He reached up and twisted the lowest of the ten earrings lining his left ear, each of which was dotted with a tiny, precious gemstone that was probably worth more than everything Percy owned. After a heavy silence, he slid his chair to the right and pressed a button on the intercom device at the edge of his desk.

"Hazel," he said into it, "bring me the event schedule for April."

"Next April, sir?" the voice of his secretary asked.

"No, this April."

"…This April? As in, _this_ month?"

"Yes, this month," Harley confirmed, ignoring the uncertainty in his assistant's voice. "The original file folder, please, not the finalized print."

"Of course, sir. Just… Just a minute."

When Harley sat back, Percy said hopefully, "Does this mean you're in?"

"I'll see what I can do," Harley replied, folding his hands across his stomach. "We're booked solid for the next fourteen months, but I'm sure there's some second-rate performer I can boot out. You're right about a lot of this, but foremost is that this war _is_ important. The sooner we win, the better."

Percy grinned. "Got that right."

"You do realize, however," Harley went on, a note of warning in his voice, "that with Parker out of commission for the time being, the safety of both the east and central divisions falls on you. And seeing as you have no successor… Be sure to tread lightly here. This plan of yours isn't a bad one, but I'm sure you realize how dangerous it is."

Percy knew exactly how right his uncle was, but rather than show any apprehension he raised an eyebrow and joked, "You're actually worried about me? Didn't know you cared."

Harley waved a hand with a light smirk. "Not so much _you_ as the future of the family. In _that_ , I'm… understandably invested."

"Right, of course."

A knock on the door just then interrupted their conversation, and after an invitation from Harley the woman from downstairs opened the door and stepped inside. She was carrying a manila envelope stuffed full of trimmed slips of paper which stuck out in all directions.

"Here's the schedule file you wanted," she told her boss as she strode across the room and handed him the folder. With a quick glance at Percy, she added, "Can I… ask what this is about?"

"The family has need of the club," Harley told her, setting the folder in front of him and flipping it carefully open. "We're going to be bringing in a special act on short notice."

"But… _this_ month?" the secretary—Hazel, Harley had called her—repeated doubtfully. "Most of these acts have been scheduled since last spring, or earlier. They won't respond well if I call them _now_ to cancel…"

"Any issues can be raised directly to me." Harley chose a blue sheet of paper from the seemingly-unorganized stack and checked it against a printed spreadsheet paper-clipped to the left side of the folder. "This will do." To his nephew, he decided, "A week from Friday, the sixteenth. That's the earliest I can get you in."

Percy nodded. "I'll take it. I haven't talked to Thalia yet—"

"Leave that to me," Harley promised, holding the blue sheet out to his assistant. "Hazel, please notify Mr. Jones that his band's performance on the sixteenth has been indefinitely postponed. Be sure to give him my sincere apologies and my word that I will personally be in touch to re-schedule them as soon as possible."

"Right away, sir."

"Oh, and… you may want to take that night off. Have a quiet evening at home."

Confusion sparked in Hazel's eyes. She cocked her head to the side inquisitively, but all she said was, "…Alright." Harley thanked her and, offering polite smiles to Percy and Frank, she let herself out of the office.

"She seems better than your last personal assistant," Percy noted once she'd gone. "Smarter."

Harley lowered his chin. "Yes, she has immense potential. Hence my desire to keep her out of this little CIA rendezvous. I'd like her to stay around."

"Well, thanks for all your help," Percy summed up, sensing that the meeting was just about over. He turned to exchange a nod with Frank, but noticed that the latter was still staring at the door through which Hazel had just disappeared. Shaking his head in amusement, he glanced back at his uncle and added, "I know this isn't gonna be easy. But it's nice to know I can count on you."

"I'll take care of everything here," Harley said with a curt nod. "You just make sure not to get yourself killed or discovered before the time comes. It'd be a shame for all this planning to go to waste."

"Aw, no worries," Percy replied with more confidence than he actually had. "There's no way they'll see this coming. We just got one up on them, right? They're probably thinking we'd be stupid to try something again so quickly."

"Which is potentially true," Harley reminded him with a ghost of a smirk.

Heading for the door and snapping Frank out of his reverie, Percy shrugged. "Maybe we'll get lucky. I mean, you know what they say: Fortune favors the bold."

Harley chuckled, a dark smile breaking across his pale face. "Please, nephew," he said with a vague goodbye wave. "You've been in this business far too long to believe that."

* * *

 **And that's a plan. More excitement next two chapters, when this plan actually happens. Hopefully I can get them up relatively soon. Shouldn't be as long of a wait as this one, at the very least.**

 **Thanks, everybody! Later days!**

 **-oMM**


	14. Trap

**Hey there :) Happy Friday! I know it's been a bit, but I wanted to get this and the next chapter both finished before posting either. They go very closely together and I just figured it'd be safer this way (which was a good decision because I ended up changing the end of this chapter once I'd written most of 15... heh).**

 **So, nice long update today! Thanks as always to last time's reviewers, welcome new followers, etc. Enjoy!**

* * *

Wearing our vintage _misery_ / No, I think it looked a little **better** on me  
I'm gonna **change** you like a _remix_ / Then I'll _raise_ you like a **phoenix**

* * *

Annabeth took her fiancé's advice and remained inside the Marten the entire day following their evening return from Langley. It wasn't as though there was little to do there—with so many of Olympus's high-ranking members visiting, the place was busier than ever. She was grateful, really; keeping herself occupied was an ample way to avoid worrying about the near future—something she and those close to her had become marginally accustomed to.

That night, however, a lull in activity prompted her decision to head down to the medical ward to check in on her less-mobile friends. She knew Frank had made a quick enough recovery and had gone along with Percy to Los Angeles, but Leo and Clarisse were still out of commission. Not to mention Parker Grace. She had her pick of visitees.

When she exited into the elevator lounge on the bottom floor of the complex, her attention was caught by a figure stepping slowly into the room from the far hallway, hands raised as their fingers massaged a headache.

"Reyna," Annabeth identified the person, a frown tugging at her facial features.

Reyna lifted her head and looked around, offered a half-hearted nod when she noticed Annabeth, and dropped heavily into the nearest cushioned chair.

Forcing back a look of sympathy (Reyna never responded well to such reactions), Annabeth trudged across the room and sat down beside her friend. She hadn't seen Reyna all day—presumably the martial artist had been down here since morning. She didn't seem nearly as tense and frustrated as she'd been during the previous week as they prepared for their assault on the CIA building, which Annabeth supposed was a good thing. But the exhaustion the woman now exhibited was just barely better.

"You look like you haven't slept since we got back," she observed, a dry edge of forced humor to her voice.

Reyna leaned back in her chair and smirked wryly. "I haven't," she admitted. "I suppose now would be a good time, since Leo's in surgery, but… I still don't think I can. Too much on my mind."

After a brief, respectful pause, Annabeth asked, "How is he?"

Reyna didn't answer right away. She turned her palms face-up in her lap and looked at them thoughtfully, as though the answer were written on them in a language she barely understood. "I'm not sure," she finally replied. A weak smile brushed across her face. "I don't think even he's completely sure. He's alive, and… they think he's going to stay that way, which is good…"

Annabeth smiled. "Definitely good."

"Yeah. But…" Reyna shook her head, eyes glaring at the carpet. "After what they did to him… It won't be the same anymore. Nothing will."

Annabeth nodded, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. Hands rubbing her arms against a sudden chill, she said quietly, "I know what that's like."

"Hey, about that," Reyna began, turning toward Annabeth. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"You used to hate Olympus for tearing your family apart," Reyna recalled the stories Annabeth had told her while they'd traveled. "But then… eventually you changed your mind. You joined them."

Annabeth wrinkled her nose. "You make it sound so fickle."

"No," Reyna relented with an amused half-smile. "I mean, you were able to forgive them. To let go of the past and accept your connection to them. Embrace it, even. I guess what I'm wondering now is… how?"

That was a good question, Annabeth mused as she studied the wall across the quiet lounge, thinking back. "I guess… it was because of my mother," she decided after a long pause. "And because of Percy. When I really understood how far they were willing to go for the people they loved… I realized I wanted to be like them. I wanted to follow my mother's example and be strong, to follow Percy's example and protect what I had left. It wasn't easy, what I went through to get to this point. But I guess that… if there's one thing I've learned through all this, it's that family is worth fighting for. Especially if it's a family that's willing to fight for you. That's what Olympus is to me. It just took me a while to figure that out."

When confliction crossed Reyna's dark eyes, Annabeth added, "It doesn't have to be the same for you. I chose to join because of my mother and the guy I love. Olympus is an inescapable part of my life. But you guys… Just because we teamed up a few times doesn't mean you can't get out, go back to a normal life. Well—semi-normal, anyway," she corrected with an apologetic shrug.

But Reyna shook her head and met Annabeth's gaze, steel behind her ashen expression. "No, it _is_ the same. Our situation is more like yours than you think. We're—" She broke off and clenched a fist, before breathing out shortly and dropping her shoulders. When Annabeth tilted her head inquisitively, Reyna went on, "I don't think Leo would want me to tell you this—at least not yet—but… Well, I trust you and he'll just have to live with that."

Annabeth might have chuckled, but the seriousness in her friend's voice held her back. "Tell me what?"

"A few hours ago, we got a visit from that Olympus tech specialist, Hank. We had a… weird conversation."

"Hank Beckendorf?" Annabeth asked with a frown. When Reyna confirmed, Annabeth raised her eyebrows. "Huh. I never thought he seemed like much of a talker."

"Oh, he talked, alright. He told us a pretty wild story." A pained look crossed Reyna's face, as though remembering physically hurt her. "To sum it up: Leo is his son."

Annabeth blinked, not sure she'd heard correctly. "…What? How is that even—?"

"Possible? I had a hard time believing it, too. But the things he said, they just—they made sense. They fit with what Leo remembers, and I… I really think he was telling the truth. And even more than that, Leo seemed to notice some kind of connection between them. I think he wanted to deny it, but… he knew he couldn't."

"Wow," Annabeth breathed, still shocked. She sat back in her chair, unsure what to say. Reyna was right—their situation suddenly _was_ rather similar to her own. "Small world, huh…"

Reyna breathed out shortly. "Microscopic."

"So… what are you gonna do?"

"I don't know yet," Reyna admitted. "Stay for now, at least, until he's better. But after that… I don't know."

This time Annabeth didn't respond, only reached out and gently squeezed Reyna's shoulder. She'd grown close to the stoic martial artist over the past few months—almost become accustomed to her presence. It made her sad to think of Reyna leaving, of possibly never seeing her again once the fight was over. She supposed it had always been a possibility—Reyna's life was in Detroit, after all. How could she expect her to pick up and leave everything behind, as she herself had done when she'd quit the CIA? But inside, she remembered what it felt like to learn that everything you thought you knew was wrong. She and Percy had fled the country shortly after it had happened to her, giving her plenty of time away to process the mental upheaval. Maybe that was what Reyna and Leo would need as well.

She was about to suggest Reyna sleep on it for now when muffled voices around the corner announced the arrival of Katie Gardner and Travis Stoll, the latter holding an arm protectively around the former as they entered the lounge, conversing in hushed tones. Travis was dressed normally in jeans and a halfway-buttoned shirt, but Katie wore a long nightgown and fuzzy socks as though she'd just strode down to the medical wing in her sleep.

"Hi, guys," Annabeth greeted them, startling them both. "Everything okay?"

"Fine, fine," Katie promised with a smile—though Annabeth noticed a distinct weariness in her expression and movements. She placed a hand on her swelled stomach. "Just some abdominal pain—it woke me up and I figured I'd come down to get checked, but everything's normal." She gave a weak laugh. "She must not have liked me lying still for so long after today's activity."

"Well, she's gonna learn to live with it," Travis grumbled, "because you've got to start taking it easy. Your mom offered to come back and help out, why don't you—?"

"Oh, don't you go taking her side," Katie argued, rolling her eyes as she lowered herself, with some difficulty, into a chair. "You _know_ how impossible she is. Not to mention the fact that she kind of hates you for this. If I ask her for help, she'll whisk me away to some remote island and name you Public Enemy Number One. You watch."

She pointed an accusatory finger at her boyfriend and he laughed, despite his apparent effort to remain adamant. "Good point."

"What are you guys doing here so late?" Katie asked conversationally.

Annabeth exchanged a glance with Reyna and replied, "Killing time, nothing interesting. So how are you? How's the baby?"

"Well, the baby's great," Katie explained with a beleaguered sigh. "Great enough for the both of us—which is good, because I'm a bit of a disaster."

"A cute disaster," Travis added matter-of-factly.

She smiled and shook her head, reaching up to ruffle his already-messy hair. "That makes two of us," she joked, taking his hand and lacing their fingers.

"Pregnancy not as glamorous as it seems?" Annabeth asked ruefully.

"You can tell?" Katie leaned back tiredly in her seat, resting her free hand on her stomach. "Still… I won't say it isn't worth it. Family is hard, but… it's always worth it."

Annabeth glanced sideways at Reyna and lifted an eyebrow, lips turning upward. That was essentially the point she'd been trying to make earlier. In a way, they were all family now—Reyna included. She hoped her friend realized that.

And she seemed to. Reyna returned a small smile and a tiny nod in agreement.

Visibly more relaxed, Reyna stood up and stretched her arms. "I should probably head upstairs and get some sleep," she decided, to Annabeth's relief and satisfaction. "Or, well— _try_ to, at least."

"Good idea," Annabeth told her. "Hey—keep me updated, okay?"

Reyna inclined her head as she pressed the button to call an elevator. "I will. And maybe don't… spread around what I told you. Not yet."

"Don't worry," Annabeth promised, raising her right hand and ignoring the questioning glances she was receiving from Travis and Katie.

She was spared having to provide any sort of deference at all, though, when the rightmost elevator doors slid open and the lift behind them was surprisingly not empty—Percy was inside, leaning lazily against the back wall. He was dressed in loose clothes and looked tired from a long day of traveling. The cut on his face was still bandaged; Annabeth found herself absently wondering if it would permanently scar.

"Oh, good," he said when he saw Annabeth. "There you are."

"Here I am." She stood up and lifted her arms. Stepping into the lounge, he waved to Reyna as she took his place and disappeared from sight.

"Well, look who it is," Travis said to Percy, narrowing his eyes. "Welcome back. I hear _you_ were having some super-secret meeting with Harley. Care to tell?"

After greeting Annabeth with a too-short hello kiss, Percy arched an eyebrow at the bartender. "You do realize I'm not obligated to tell you anything, right? You're not division head yet."

"Aw, come on. I will be someday," Travis pointed out. "And besides, we're friends. Friends tell each other stuff. Especially if they're, say, planning on disappearing again. Or surrendering to the CIA."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic. It's nothing like that."

"Don't you trust us?" Katie inquired, the sparkle in her eye indicating amusement.

"You know," Annabeth cut in, poking her fiancé in the chest, "they've got a point. You _do_ have a few beans to spill."

"Alright, alright." Percy took a step back and held up his hands in a placating gesture. "Just… Keep this between us for now, okay? The situation's delicate. The last thing we need is this getting out of hand."

Once he and Annabeth sat down, he recounted for Travis and Katie what they'd discussed the previous night—that leading another attack on the CIA should be their next order of business. After thorough explanation and reassurance that they weren't crazy to do this, he moved on to his meeting with codename Hades and what they'd decided.

Annabeth had to admit the plan was sound. That the two of them would be seen supporting Strikedown—the band the CIA knew full well was led by Percy's cousin Thalia—wasn't too outrageous of a possibility, especially so far away from Langley and New York. Harley's club really was the perfect place—they would have the upper hand, without the CIA knowing it.

"So what do you think?" Percy asked Annabeth. "Kind of like what you had in mind?"

"Definitely." Annabeth grinned. "I know Atlas. He'll take the bait if he thinks it'll give him an easy chance to take us down and make himself look good to Kronos. There's a chance he might look into the nightclub before dropping in, but as long as Harley's good at covering his tracks…"

"Scary good," Percy confirmed confidently.

"Then we shouldn't have anything to worry about. We just need a team."

"Count me in," Travis volunteered at once. "Connor too, probably. This plan's crazy—totally insane. And I kind of love it."

Percy's eyebrows knitted as he glanced between Travis and Katie. "Are you sure that's a good—?"

"Don't," Travis interrupted firmly. "You need help, and I want this thing over and done with so we can stop watching our backs." His grip on Katie's hand tightened, stormy eyes hard, and Annabeth felt as though she understood. He wanted to be out there, actively fighting to protect the people he loved—his growing family. It was dangerous, but keeping them safe was well worth the risk.

She touched Percy on the arm and said to Travis, "Glad to have you on the team again." Percy shot her a skeptical glance but voiced no further argument.

"Frank will be coming, too," he went on instead. "And Harley's gonna make sure the staff that night is capable and trustworthy. Other than that—"

"I think we should ask Piper," Annabeth suggested. "She's a serious talker—got us out of a lot of scrapes on the road. And handy with a semi-automatic. She can help."

"Okay," Percy agreed with a nod, "but that's it. Atlas won't be sending a circus so neither should we. We keep this quiet. It's the only way we're gonna pull it off."

There was a moment of tense silence among the small group as the weight of this decision settled in. Despite the danger, though, Annabeth couldn't help feeling a tiny spark of excitement—a bit like the anticipation she used to feel as an agent whenever she received a new assignment. She didn't mention it, though; the others might have taken it the wrong way.

"Just be careful, you guys, okay?" Katie told them somberly, roaming gaze lingering on each of them in turn. "Remember why we're fighting this war."

"If we can help it," Percy said stonily, "we won't have to for much longer."

-0-0-0-

Rock music wasn't Annabeth's thing.

Actually, loud music in general wasn't entirely favorable to her. She'd never been much for nightlife—at least, not in the usual sense of the word—having often declined in favor of schoolwork when her college friends invited her out. She liked the Grapevine back in Brooklyn, with its small, homey feel and familiar atmosphere. But while also being Olympus-owned-and-run, the EXLA, she quickly learned on the night of April 16th, was as different from the Grapevine as darkness was from light.

It felt like the entire city of Los Angeles had come out for Strikedown's impromptu performance. The admittance line stretched for blocks down South Spring Street (though luckily Annabeth and the others weren't subjected to the wait, being VIPs and all); the valet lot was almost completely full, save for a reserved section; and inside, the heightened activity as people rushed this way and that made any purposeful movement a taxing operation. Annabeth sincerely hoped that if the CIA did show up, they'd be able to draw them into a fight somewhere outside the main event hall. There was no telling how difficult it would be—not to mention how many people would get hurt—otherwise.

They'd been able to meet very briefly with Thalia upon arrival as her band set up backstage—just long enough to confirm the explanation Harley had given her and go over what they planned to do. Percy had given her an earpiece connected to their communication line so she could listen in during the show.

"Whatever you hear, don't stop playing," he'd warned her. They were counting on her music to help drown out the potential sound of gunfire. Harley had given the club's security detail instructions on what to tell anyone who might overhear—some believable excuse to calm people down—but in order to avoid widespread panic they would need all the help they could get.

Now, they were through the opening act and a minute or so into Strikedown's first song, and already Annabeth was developing a headache. Admittedly it may have been due in part to adrenaline rush—her hand was gripped tightly around the radio frequency detection device in her jacket pocket, waiting for the slightest flicker of vibration that would announce the presence of a CIA comm unit (another genius Olympus invention, barely out of testing stage). The intense energy around her permeated her skull in throbs, reminding her that each second that followed could be the one in which the ambush drops. Her eyes restlessly scanned the crowd from her position near its right edge. She pressed a finger to her ear, hoping she hadn't missed a message from one of the others in the noise. The six of them had split into pairs during the opening act to better watch their surroundings—Frank and Piper to the left, the Stoll brothers in the back, and Annabeth and Percy to the right. So far, though, they'd seen nothing.

 _It's still early,_ Annabeth insisted to herself, tapping her foot on the floor and wishing she was wearing sneakers. She'd been forced to dress more formally than she would've liked, given her wish to avoid drawing suspicion, and thus left her workout pants and running shoes at home. The one plus side to wearing a skirt, though: she could conceal a gun beneath it for easy access.

When someone touched her arm she jumped and whirled sideways, elbowing the person quite hard in the ribs. Much too hasty a reaction, she realized upon focusing her attention on her fiancé stumbling back from her, doubled over with a grimace.

"Sorry," she insisted immediately, hurrying forward and raising her voice.

"I was just gonna tell you," Percy grunted in reply, "to calm down. You look like you're about to rob the place."

"I'm just tense," Annabeth stated unnecessarily. "If this doesn't work, we might not get another chance."

Percy stood up and looked out over her head, above the dancing audience. The flashing neon lights far above them made his dark hair look purple, black spotlights causing his shirt and the brand-new scar on his face—a thin, straight line drawn from the corner of his left eye to just below his mouth—to glow. It was a little freaky.

He said something in reply, but his voice was nothing but a muffled tone mixing with the music. "What?" she shouted, unconsciously leaning forward.

Glancing down at her, he stepped closer and brought his head near her shoulder, saying into her ear, "Remember what Jason said—they got the message. They're coming. They're probably just waiting for the right time. Which is why we can't scare 'em off by actually _looking_ like we're ready."

Annabeth released her breath. He was right, of course. Like it or not, she needed to try and blend in.

"I know," she replied dejectedly, leaning her forehead against his shoulder for a few seconds in defeat. "I just don't want to get distracted and miss something."

"You won't," Percy said confidently, leaning back to grin at her. "You're good at looking relaxed when you're really not. Remember our first date?"

Annabeth rolled her eyes. "Let's not talk about that."

"Aw, come on. I had fun that night." He nodded toward the stage as the first song finished and Thalia began shouting into her microphone, greeting the cheering crowd rather loudly. When the lead guitarist struck a resounding riff and another song began, Percy went on, "The show's just starting, there's tons of time for something to happen. Let's not ruin it before it starts."

"Fine. What do we do?"

He shrugged. "It's a nightclub. Dance."

Annabeth glanced around her. What most of the people nearby were doing hardly qualified as 'dancing'—couples were pressed so closely together it was like they were trying to share the same spot on the dance floor, and the way they moved almost made Annabeth feel as though she shouldn't be watching them.

 _Oh, alright,_ she thought inwardly. _We're supposed to be here for fun, after all…_

"Watch behind me," she told her fiancé as she stepped close to him. She slipped one arm around his neck and rested her other hand on his chest, eyes going over his shoulder toward the back of the dance hall as they began to move in unison. Part of her admittedly started to wish they really _were_ just there for fun—maybe then she could actually take time to enjoy being this physically close to Percy. She could look at his eyes instead of other people's, pay attention to his hands on her hips. But as it was, those were otherwise-welcome distractions that she couldn't dwell on at the moment. Not with all the other factors attempting to withdraw her focus—the loud club patrons, louder music, intense heat, vibrating air…

 _Wait_. It wasn't the air that was vibrating—it was the cell-phone-shaped detection tool in her pocket. She took a half-step back, briefly catching Percy's eye as she looked down and reached into her jacket. Sure enough, the notification light was flashing red. Someone nearby was using a CIA radio device.

"They're—" she started to say, but was interrupted by a small commotion just to her left. Four or five people stumbled and fell as one man bowled unsteadily through the throng. Startled, Annabeth dodged sideways as Percy reflexively jerked forward to try and catch the guy, who proceeded to crash into him. Percy gave a sharp yell as the crunching sound of shattering glass followed and Annabeth felt a splash of sticky liquid strike her right side.

"Hey! What's going on there?" an authoritative voice shouted as a security guard pushed into view, brandishing a flashlight. In its light Annabeth saw what had happened—the stumbling man was on the floor, looking dazed amid a broken rocks glass which must have held the drink Annabeth was now wearing. Percy stood over him, breathing through gritted teeth and glaring at the three-inch shard of glass impaled in his right forearm.

Biting her lip, Annabeth darted around to his right side and inspected the wound as the guard aimed his flashlight at the fallen man's face and demanded, "Little early to be this drunk, isn't it, sir? I'm gonna need you to come with me."

Percy waved Annabeth away and yanked the glass swiftly from his arm, making her wince. Then he glanced at her and shot a meaningful look toward the seemingly-drunk man being helped up by the guard as the disgruntled people around them shuffled away.

Annabeth nodded; she was thinking the same thing.

 _You're slipping, Atlas. Way too obvious._

She was about to suggest they follow the guy in secret before the guard leaned in to be heard and told Percy, "Sorry about that. If you come along, too, we can get that cleaned up."

After exchanging a glance with Annabeth, Percy nodded to him and the group of four departed from the crowd. Before they left the dance hall, Percy glanced up at the stage. Thalia was keeping up her performance, but her eyes were watching them from across the room. At her cousin's nod, she inclined her head just barely enough to be seen.

Maintaining a grip on the drunk man/CIA spy, Harley's security officer led them downstairs into the Grand Foyer, which was now empty of foot traffic thanks to the show going on up on the second floor. They crossed the room and the guard set the staggering spy down on a chair near the front entrance.

"Wait here. You can try running if you want, but in that condition it looks like you won't get far." To Percy and Annabeth, he said in a kinder voice, "This way. We have first aid kits in the supply room."

As he led the way through an open doorway to their left branching into a hallway, Annabeth nodded to her fiancé and quietly backed away from the two of them. She pulled her pistol from her thigh holster and pressed herself against the wall just inside the hallway, waiting. She fully expected the CIA assassin to follow them, and she would be sure to meet him the instant he rounded the corner.

But for the next half a minute or so, she waited in vain, finger poised on the trigger with no reason yet to fire. Curious, she chanced a peek around the corner—just in time to see the man straighten his jacket and walk quite steadily out the front door.

Cursing under her breath, she dashed into the Grand Foyer and rushed after him. But through the glass doors, she watched as a black, unmarked car stopped in front of the club, and she'd barely reached the door and shoved it open before he disappeared into the backseat. The car sped off at once.

Confused, Annabeth stared after it from the sidewalk for a long few seconds. That had to be an agency vehicle; she'd seen its like before. But why would they take that man away before he could finish the job?

Unless he wasn't there to finish the job at all. Perhaps he'd been nothing but an advance party, or even a distraction—

Annabeth's eyes widened. Ignoring the odd looks she was getting from people mingling outside, she turned and bolted back into the club. She raced across the Grand Foyer and ducked into the back hallway, following the direction in which she'd seen Percy and the security guard heading. She was halfway down the hall before she made out the sounds of voices (her ears still pounding from the volume upstairs) and she raised her gun an instant before rounding a corner into a brightly-lit supply room.

Maybe it was a paranoid act, but it paid off in the end—the security guard was already lifting his own handgun toward the back of Percy's head, giving Annabeth exactly three-quarters of a second to act. As her fiancé sensed the danger and looked up, she took aim and squeezed the trigger on her pistol, hurling a single lead bullet into the assailant's chest and knocking him sideways.

Percy whirled around as the guy toppled to the floor. He started to reach for the weapon he had concealed beneath his jacket, but after realizing that there was no need, he leaned back against the table beside him and shot Annabeth a sideways smirk.

"See? Told you, you wouldn't miss anything."

She glared at him. "I didn't realize they were _both_ CIA. What do we do now?"

Percy approached the false security guard and crouched beside him. He turned the man's head sideways and checked for a pulse against his neck, before rifling through his pockets and producing a radio device. Curious, Annabeth pulled the frequency detector from her own pocket and observed the flashing light, which had increased its speed.

"This isn't ours," Percy concluded, examining the radio. "How long you think until they track it back here?"

"Depending on the guy's orders," Annabeth answered, "could be any minute."

He tossed the device in the air and caught it, rising to his feet. "Guess we'd better move on, then. Let's call the others."

"Hold it. You're not going anywhere dressed like that." Annabeth pointed a finger at Percy's right arm—specifically the blood dripping down over his hand. She stowed her gun and stalked across the room, snatching up the first aid kit he'd been digging into a moment ago.

Once they'd quickly wiped the blood and wrapped the cut, they hurried, weapons in hand, back into the hallway and toward the Grand Foyer. As they crossed it, Annabeth tapped into her radio and told the rest of their group to meet them in the Gallery on the first floor—one of the EXLA's VIP rooms for rent which was vacant on that particular night.

The hall in question lay adjacent to the Grand Foyer, but was larger and more lavish. Decorative portraits and landscapes dotted the long, soft-white walls—nothing Annabeth recognized, but some impressive-looking pieces all the same. Statues and busts formed an aisle down the center of the room around a handful of red pillars hung with richly-embroidered banners. Long, glass display cases flanked them, each filled with things ranging from ancient artifacts to arrangements of colorful stones.

 _Of all the places to start a fight…_ Annabeth thought, cringing. They could do some real damage in there. But certain of its features were very conducive to their plan, so she supposed it couldn't be avoided.

"This had better work," she said aloud, deciding not to bring up any financial dangers.

"It will," her fiancé said confidently. "Atlas has got to be here somewhere. You said so yourself—he wouldn't sit this one out. Not for a shot at us both."

"True. He'll know something's up by now, since his assassin hasn't called in. By the book, next step is to trace his radio."

"Which will bring them right here."

"Great plan," someone else interrupted, "just as long as we're not outnumbered."

In unison Annabeth and Percy whipped toward the front entrance doors, but it was only the rest of their team. The four of them had just stepped inside and were taking their turn to look around the Gallery.

"So what if we are?" Annabeth shrugged in response to Piper's observation. "Think of it as a challenge." Piper smirked at her in satisfaction.

"How much time do we have?" Frank asked.

"Not much," Percy guessed. "Better get in position and wait it out."

"So, what," Connor suggested, glancing at the nearest chandelier, "we hide, turn of the lights, and yell 'surprise'?"

Travis snorted. "Imagine the look on Atlas's face… I bet people don't throw that guy a lot of parties."

"It'd be a good deed, then," Connor added. "Like a charity program—Ugly Agent Outreach, working hard to make less fortunate government goons feel wanted."

"Seriously, guys," Percy cut in firmly. "Keep it down. But, uh… Maybe killing the lights _is_ a good idea."

The brothers exchanged grins before Connor flipped the panel of switches by the door, throwing them into darkness. Annabeth heard her friends shuffle into safe positions and chose the rear side of the nearest display case herself. It gave her a decent vantage point, allowing her to keep both entrances in sight. Presumably, Atlas would send men in through the back as well as the front.

In the silence, Annabeth could just barely hear the dull beat of the music coming from the main event hall upstairs. The bass thumped against her chest like a second heartbeat, increasing the flow of adrenaline in her veins. As the seconds ticked by, she began to worry that she'd been wrong—that the CIA wasn't coming. Maybe that first attempt was to be their _only_ attempt that night. The EXLA was a crowded place, after all. Atlas was rough around the edges and ruthless when it came to hunting Olympus, but as a government agent he was also naturally concerned with the public well-being. Was it possible he'd think the club too dangerous of a place to ignite a confrontation?

But then, finally, she heard it—the shuffle of footsteps far to her right, near the rear entrance leading to the back elevator hall. It was too dark for her to make out any of her allies, but she hoped they were ready. Because any second now—

When it happened, even she was caught momentarily off guard. The overhead lights flashed back to life and for a split second Annabeth glanced down to reflexively shield her eyes. Immediately scolding herself, she dropped flat to her stomach as the sound of suppressed gunfire permeated the air.

Footsteps pounded and a male voice gave a strangled yell. Hoping it wasn't a friend of hers, she rolled sideways into a crouch and leaned around the nearest pillar toward the back entrance, from which four black-clad CIA agents were fast approaching. She aimed her pistol, but she only got off two misaimed shots before she was spotted and forced to duck for cover.

"Down!" a gruff voice barked from somewhere behind her. She shot a look, just in time to see a small explosion of smoke detonate by the front entrance. The force of the blast pushed her backward and she squeezed her eyes shut as she rolled across the floor. The sounds of ballistics stopped.

"Imagine that," the same voice continued, pitch heightened by a note of amusement. "It seems all of us thought we were the ones setting a trap tonight."

Coughing, Annabeth climbed to her feet to see Duke Atlas step through the dissipating smoke, beady eyes glowering at her and the others—all of whom looked unhurt, to her relief, despite now being held at gunpoint by a group of eight armed CIA assassins. Atlas clutched an autorifle in one meaty hand, holding the other up high as a hold signal to his team.

His gaze came to rest on Percy, who was standing a little ways to Annabeth's left and glaring daggers at the Deputy Director, gun held tightly at his side. Lifting the barrel of his rifle to deadly aim, Atlas smiled. "But look who was unlucky enough to get caught. Or stupid enough."

 _Score_ , Annabeth thought in triumph. _It actually worked._

A satisfied smirk spread across Percy's face. "My thoughts exactly," he said to Atlas. Then he touched a finger to the radio in his ear and shouted, "Move in!"

For a second, Atlas looked bewildered. He glanced around as though expecting an army to jump his team from behind. But they'd just come from the Grand Foyer—they would have known if anyone had been there, waiting to strike. The look on his face said as much when he turned back to Percy, shaking his head in feigned sympathy.

But then, the ambush wasn't waiting in the Grand Foyer. Atlas barely opened his mouth to remark before three hidden panels along the Gallery's back wall slid away to reveal as many pairs of planted Olympus gunmen, all of them dressed in the uniform of the EXLA's security detail. They dashed out from between Annabeth and the others and opened fire on the CIA agents, all of whom scrambled into motion and dove for cover before attempting to return fire.

A swell of pleased satisfaction flooded through Annabeth as Atlas's expression turned from smugness to shock to rage.

 _Surprise, Atlas,_ she wanted to say, recalling the Stoll brothers' earlier joke. _Hope you like our party favors._

* * *

 **Next chapter picks up literally right here and is basically done aside from a bit of final editing, so it'll probably be up Monday. That's good news, right? It's called 'Red' and is like 3/4 battle scenes. About 4,000 words. Get pumped :D**

 **Only six chapters left now... Later days, gang!**

 **-oMM**


	15. Red

**Hey there :) Meant to get this up yesterday, but I was off work and never got on the computer. So, happy Tuesday instead! Here's the rest of the fight!**

 **Thanks as usual, gang. Enjoy!**

* * *

Put on your **war** _paint_

* * *

Unfortunately, the game wasn't over quite so easily.

Not that Annabeth really expected it to be. This was Atlas, after all, and his hand-picked team of CIA specialists. Still, the sudden addition of six Olympus gunmen did provide them with a momentary advantage as the surprised agents hurried to regain their composure. Annabeth and her friends were able to slip back into hiding, reclaiming their safe vantage points.

Most of them, anyway—Atlas didn't seem willing to lose his upper hand so readily. With a feral growl, he hefted his rifle and opened fire, seeming unconcerned with whether or not he took any hits himself. He gunned down one newcomer, two portraits, and a clay vase before his clip ran out and he hurled the gun aside, almost decking one of his agents. Then he charged forward, weaponless, and lunged at Percy, who had dropped low to avoid the wild gunfire. He grabbed the leader of Olympus by the shirt and shoved him back against a stone display stand, knocking it into the wall.

As Percy ducked Atlas's follow-up punch, looking dazed, Annabeth dashed from her safe place and started toward them. Her path was immediately obstructed by a handgun that came out of nowhere and smacked her in the face. Pain burst in her nose and forehead as she stumbled back, her vision flashing with golden spots. She squeezed her eyes shut and relied on a combination of sound and instinct to find her attacker, throwing out a hand and snatching someone by what felt like the shoulder. She flung a kick at the person's torso and heard a muffled grunt as he was pushed sideways.

She opened her eyes and blinked hard a few times to clear her sight. Her head was still pounding, but at least now she could see—which was good, because the agent who'd attacked her was coming in for another round. She successfully dodged his grab and shouldered him roughly to the side, pivoting to kick him in the ribs. She dropped to a quick crouch and picked up her gun before delivering two rapid shots to the man's back.

The second she spun around, two more agents were on her. She shouldn't have been surprised—she was on the CIA's Most Wanted list, after all. But with an aching head and flying bullets making her danger senses go haywire, she would've appreciated a tiny bit of a break

She bent backward to evade a vicious right hook and sidestepped a jerky grab. Sliding behind the woman who'd lunged at her, she aimed a close-range shot at the man, which he ducked as he aimed another swift blow that connected with her left side. Doubling over, she drove her shoulder against his chest and shoved him back against the nearest statue, which teetered dangerously on the spot.

Before she turned around, something heavy bowled into her and she collided with one of the long exhibition cases in the center of the hall. The glass cracked and shattered beneath the combined weight of her and her assailant, dropping them both into the display below. Annabeth's back hit hard against piles of smooth stones and warm water from a manmade pond in their center splashed and cascaded outward, dampening her hair and shirt.

Gritting her teeth, she shoved the agent off of her and rolled the other way, more concerned with adding distance between them than staying dry. She felt someone grab the collar of her shirt before she saw them and snatched up the nearest rolling stone, swinging an arm and bashing someone—who turned out to be the woman from before—on the side of the head, effectively freeing herself.

Having no idea where her own gun had gotten to, Annabeth stole one from the dazed and groaning woman nearest her, who didn't seem at all to notice. The crunch of glass had her whirling around, expecting another attack, but the sound was farther away than she thought. She had all of a couple seconds to assess her surroundings then. Travis and Connor were near the front entrance, standing back to back as they fought off three CIA assassins. Frank had just delivered a knockout blow to one enemy and was in the process of shoving a stone bust against another. Piper was near the back entrance, ducking in and out of cover as she and an ally fought off another pair. Atlas stood in the corner, firing a pistol into the fray as two of their Olympus backup squad tried to get to him. Annabeth noticed with a pang of dread that fewer people were left standing than she would've liked.

Someone approached rapidly from her left and raised his gun arm for a strike, but Annabeth was saved from having to dodge when Percy came out of nowhere and bent the guy's arm backward before slugging him in the face.

Grabbing Annabeth's arm with a serious expression, he shouted over the sounds of fighting, "We should split up—you and me." He shot a glance over his shoulder at Atlas. "Separate him from his team. If one of us goes upstairs—"

"I'll go," she volunteered at once. "He'll come after me. He wants me dead more than anything."

She feared for a second that he would argue on the grounds of her safety, but thankfully he only nodded—although she noticed his frown deepen. "Okay, let's—"

He broke off as the agent from a second ago grabbed his shoulder and threw a punch at him. He leaned back and snagged the guy's arm, using it to pull him stumbling forward before ramming an elbow into the back of his neck. The agent crumpled to the floor and, ducking gunfire from behind, Percy yelled to Annabeth, "Go!"

Without another word she bolted. She leapt the fallen agent and skirted another one, also ducking instinctively to avoid stray bullets. Gun in hand, she fired a wild warning shot in Atlas's direction to get his attention, glad when he turned his glare on her and hollered, "Chase!"

The Stoll brothers shot her questioning glances as she rushed past them for the doorway and she jerked her head upward, loosely indicating their makeshift plan.

" _Stop!_ " Atlas shouted as Annabeth dashed out the front doorway. She realized he was ordering his teammates, though, when he continued, "Stay here—kill Jackson! Chase is mine!"

 _Perfect,_ Annabeth thought breathlessly as she raced around the corner and up the stairs. She bypassed the second floor entirely, figuring it'd be best to keep the fight out of the main dance hall. Instead she entered the third floor Sky Loft, a smaller party room overlooking the concert stage below. It was empty—cleared out by Harley for the night's event, just in case—but the music was much louder through the open overlook cutting out most of the room's front wall. Neon lights flashed in from outside, momentarily brightening the dim, red glow from the decorative bulbs that rested against the walls. It made the wood-paneled floor appear to shift with shades of crimson. A reflective ball hung from the ceiling, bright spotlight from above casting against it and throwing white circles on the wall hangings and black, half-circle sofa that rung the center of the room, facing the overlook.

Hearing heavy footsteps behind her, Annabeth ran into the room and spun to meet her former senior coworker. The instant Atlas burst into the Loft she fired her gun repeatedly, counting on Thalia's music below to drown out the sound. One bullet grazed Atlas's shoulder, but he barely noticed. He charged at Annabeth as he slid a new magazine into his handgun and swiftly cocked it, but she didn't stand around to be shot at. She dove over the back of the sofa, grabbing the tiny square table in front of it as she did so and somersaulting over it. Back on her feet, she lifted the table and swung it furiously to her left as Atlas approached, hurling it toward him. He held up a muscular arm to block it and it broke apart against him, forcing him back a few steps from the force. Annabeth retrieved her gun from her jacket, but she'd underestimated Atlas's recovery time as usual. He picked up two broken legs of the table and flung them across the room at her. One missed, but the other whacked her hands, forcing her to lower her aim with a cry of pained surprise.

Gunshots from the Loft doorway withdrew Atlas's attention. Annabeth turned to see Connor Stoll standing just inside the door, firing continuously at Atlas to provide cover as his brother darted past him and rushed toward Annabeth.

"You're insane," Travis told her, raising his voice over the loud music from below them. "You good?"

"I'm good," Annabeth promised, regaining her composure. "Thanks for the assist."

"Any time. We want this guy as badly as you do, remember."

By the time Connor emptied his round, Annabeth was ready. Together she and Travis charged Atlas from the side. Atlas blocked Annabeth's blow with his arm, but was left open to the uppercut Travis delivered to his chin. Always quick to redeem his footing, though, Atlas immediately grabbed Travis's outstretched arm and twisted it back, causing him to growl in pain, before kicking him in the back and sending him staggering. Annabeth got behind Atlas and pushed him with all her strength, succeeding in knocking him forward over the back of the leather sofa. Connor rushed past her and leapt over it, colliding with Atlas and knocking him down.

Annabeth retrieved her gun, but Connor was too close. With the dim, flashing lights and distracting sound, there was a chance she'd shoot him by mistake. She held back as Atlas shoved Connor aside and rolled to his feet. Connor ducked a swing, but Atlas was too fast. He grabbed Connor around the throat and drove forward, shoving him against the low bottom barrier of the open window overseeing the concert hall far below.

Fearing Atlas would hurl her friend from the overlook, Annabeth climbed over the sofa to get a better shot. Before she was able, though, she heard Travis yell "Connor!" as he dashed past her and threw himself at Atlas, leaping onto his back and wrapping both arms around his thick neck. Atlas growled harshly in alarm and jerked backward, dragging Connor safely away from the deadly drop-off but smacking his head rather unceremoniously against the wall as he did so. Connor collapsed to the floor while Atlas staggered backward, trying to shake off his furious captor.

As they spun around, Atlas landed an elbow to Travis's side, successfully knocking him off, and Annabeth was finally awarded with a clear shot. She fired her gun twice and one bullet penetrated Atlas's left thigh, causing him to stumble. It would have been the perfect opportunity to finish him off, but naturally that shot had been the last in her round. Having no replacement magazines on her, she tossed the gun uselessly aside.

Looking livid, Atlas started toward her. He swung a punch, which she ducked, and kneed her painfully in the gut. When she stumbled, he grabbed a handful of her hair and tugged her upright (which didn't help her still-present headache), and she was helpless this time to dodge the powerful left hook aimed at her head. Atlas's fist collided with her temple with so much force it threw her over the back of the couch and sent her rolling across the wood-paneled floor.

The sound of the music dulled as her skull throbbed painfully. She opened her eyes, but everything she saw was gray and clouded. She rolled onto her side and attempted to push herself up with little success, instead straining her ears to try and tell if Atlas was coming close enough to kill her.

She heard a gunshot and feared the worst, but it must have missed its target. Pressing her palms hard against the sides of her head and forcing her vision by will to focus, she finally made out what was happening. Atlas hadn't come after her—not yet, at least. Travis had bought her some recovery time by once again intercepting him, this time wrestling the gun from his grip. He aimed the firearm at Atlas, but the CIA agent threw out a hand and knocked Travis's arm upward, hurling the gun from his grip. As it went flying, Travis spun around and dug an elbow hard into Atlas's stomach, causing him to double over, and followed up with an immediate blow to the jaw. As Atlas was knocked back a few feet, Travis spun around.

"Annabeth, his gun!" he shouted, flinging out a hand.

Mentally suppressing her headache, Annabeth squinted at Travis to see in which direction he was pointing. Instead, though, her eyes were suddenly drawn to Atlas as he straightened and whipped a five-inch blade from his boot, lunging so quickly Annabeth's vision blurred. He snatched Travis by the shoulder and stabbed the glinting blade between his ribs.

"NO!" Annabeth shouted reflexively as her sight cleared. Atlas ignored her, a furious snarl on his face as he gave his knife a vicious tug. Travis doubled over with a strangled yell, and Atlas responded by shoving him backward to the floor.

Vision flashing momentarily crimson with anger, Annabeth made a frantic grab for Atlas's fallen handgun, which was lying on the paneling a few yards to her left. The Deputy Director saw her, though, and vaulted over the sofa after her. He tackled her from the side and they rolled over one another. She kicked the bloody knife from his grip and felt his other hand scrabble for her neck, yanking at her hair. She drove a knee into his gut as he punched her in the stomach, each refusing to let the other gain the higher ground. Squirming away from him on the floor, she managed to bring both legs up and kick him in the chest, at last placing ample distance between them. He swiped at her legs, but she'd moved them away too quickly.

She sprang to her knees and looked around for a weapon, but the second her eyes landed on the gun Atlas's thick arm wound around her neck from behind, lifting her chin in a strong chokehold.

"It's over, Chase!" he spat in her ear. "For you and your goddamned band of criminals!"

She grabbed instinctively at his forearm, but his grip was much too strong. Gasping for breath, she reached around her and felt for Atlas's belt, snatching his radio from its clip on the side. Mustering her waning strength, she swung her arm up and smacked the Deputy Director in the face with its sharp corner.

She was rewarded with a howl of pain and a lapse in focus, allowing her to break free of Atlas's hold and draw in a few gasping breaths. She dashed forward and spun around, ready to fend off another attack, but Atlas had lost his concentration. He lumbered toward her in rage, swinging an arm wildly while his other hand tightly clutched his right eye.

"CHASE!" he bellowed, face red as the sunset. It was like he'd gone completely berserk. "I'LL KILL YOU! YOU HEAR ME? YOU'RE DEAD!"

"Not today!" Annabeth screamed back, easily ducking the misaimed blow. She dodged around Atlas and threw herself into a baseball slide across the floor, snagging his handgun and wrapping both hands tightly around it. As Atlas roared furiously, Annabeth leapt to one knee and whirled around in the direction of his voice, lifting her arms. The Deputy Director was closer than she'd thought—seconds away from flattening her. Without even taking time to steady her aim, she pulled the trigger and fired a single shot. Drops of red flew as the bullet pierced Atlas in the throat, driving him to a stumbling halt.

His uncovered eye grew wide in shock. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out; his voice was cut off by the spitting stream of blood sputtering from beneath his chin. Without another sound, he sank to his knees, and Annabeth scrambled backward out of the way as gravity pulled his heavy weight forward. He fell face-first to the floor and jerked twice before falling still as the grave.

Hands shaking, Annabeth let her back hit the nearby wall. Her eyes stared at Atlas's unmoving form as her breath attempted to steady itself, but the sight didn't quite seem to reach her brain.

It had happened so fast—too fast. Defeating Atlas had been the whole point of tonight's operation, yes. But now that it was over—now that he was dead—there was something distinctly surreal about it. She had to replay the last few minutes in her mind just to make sure it hadn't been nothing but an elaborate hallucination.

The instant replay recalled to her another important factor, however—her friends. Shaking her head and letting the CIA-issued gun drop from her grip, she staggered over Atlas's body toward the sofa, stumbling against it and leaning forward to make out the scene she was stubbornly hoping she wouldn't see—Travis lying on his back on the floor, right where Atlas had left him, and Connor slumped unmoving by the overlook.

Annabeth scrambled over the back of the sofa and dropped to her knees on the floor, grabbing Travis by the shoulder. "Hey," she said to him, voice breathless and wavering, "you with me?"

His brow was tight with pain, and when he opened his eyes they were glazed with exhaustion. "Sort of," he grunted, one corner of his mouth turning up.

She felt along his side until the black fabric of his shirt turned damp and he winced. Biting her lip, she made him twist onto his other side so she could lift his shirt and examine the stab wound. It was difficult to make out in the red lighting, but what she saw wasn't good—the cut was thin but dangerously deep, positioned on the lower right of his back. She became aware of the wetness against her knees and noticed the growing pool of blood—far too much of it.

"This is…" she murmured with an uncomfortable intake of breath.

"I know," he admitted weakly, shifting back onto his back. "Knew it'd be dangerous. Still… kind of hoped this wouldn't happen." He tried for a derisive laugh, but couldn't completely manage it.

Annabeth gritted her teeth. "Atlas," she growled. Suddenly it didn't matter that he was dead. Would he _ever_ stop taking things from her and the people she cared for?

Travis's right hand shifted toward her, but he didn't—or couldn't—lift it from the floor. "Can you…?" he began, breaking off to grimace mid-sentence. "My brother."

"Right." Annabeth swallowed her anger for the time being and got to her feet, taking a deep and steadying breath. Now was precisely the time for the level head she always used to pride herself in.

She made her way quickly to where Connor still lay—unconscious or worse—by the overlook. The first thing she did was check his pulse and breathing, holding her own breath all the while and not releasing it until she was certain he was alive. "Connor," she urged, shaking him. She patted the side of his face until he finally groaned and forced his eyes open.

"What… What happened?" he asked, his voice slightly slurred with daze. The music would have drowned him out completely had Annabeth not been leaning so close.

"It's over," she told him.

He frowned at her. "Over? Like… _over_ , over?"

Annabeth nodded. "Atlas is dead."

Connor gave her a rather delirious grin. "You're awesome. Have I ever told you that?"

She couldn't bring herself to smile. "Connor, there's—there's something…"

Sensing her demeanor, he let his grin fade. She sat up and looked over her shoulder, and when he followed her indication his expression changed immediately to one of pained disbelief. He yelled his brother's name and sprang to his feet, instantly alert. He raced past Annabeth and she heard a loud _squeak_ as he slid to the floor behind her.

"Aw, man…" he was muttering when she approached, his eyes studying the person bleeding to death before him as though searching for a trigger to prove the vision wasn't real. "We need an ambulance. Like, _now_. You called one, right?"

Annabeth slumped to the sofa and shook her head. "We don't."

Connor shot her a bewildered glare. "The hell we don't! He's gonna—!"

"I told you—it's over." Annabeth didn't quite like how thin and emotionless her voice sounded, but if the alternative was choking up, she had to take it.

Something about her tone must have been clear to Connor, though, because he let out a frustrated yell in defeat. Part of him had to know it as surely as she did—there was nothing they could do.

"That _bastard!_ " he growled, glaring past Annabeth in the vague direction of Atlas's body. "He deserved way worse than—"

"Connor," Travis interrupted his brother, voice gravelly. Annabeth could barely hear him from where she sat. "Listen. Katie…"

Annabeth felt a horrible pang in her heart at the mention of Travis's girlfriend, back in New York and two months away from giving birth to their child—a child who, much like she herself did, would now be forced to grow up without a father.

 _How could we have let this happen?_

"No," Connor argued, pain on his face.

"My daughter—"

"But…"

Travis lifted an arm and grabbed his brother's wrist, desperation in his stormy blue eyes. "Please."

"…Alright," Connor relented at last, shoulders sagging. The conviction in his voice seemed shaky and forced when he promised, "I'll take care of them."

As his brother gave a weak smile and let go of him, a voice suddenly sounded directly in Annabeth's ear, "Annabeth, you there? Where are you?"

She sat up straighter and lifted a finger to the communication device. "I'm here," she told her fiancé. "We're in the Sky Loft."

"Where's Atlas?"

"Dead."

"Seriously?" Percy sounded alarmed. "You alright?"

"I'm fine," she told him evenly. "But you'd better get up here."

"Why, what's going—?"

"Just get here."

He was quiet for a beat, maybe speaking with Frank and Piper—assuming they were still alive, of course. When he responded, his voice was low: "On our way."

The comm fell silent. By the time the door burst open and the missing half of their team came through, Travis Stoll was no longer breathing.

Annabeth turned to look. All three of them were alive, miraculously, though not completely unharmed. Frank had a black eye and a bullet wound in his left shoulder, rendering his left arm temporarily limp and useless. Piper's shirt was torn across her stomach, revealing a shallow slice that didn't seem to bother her overmuch, and was leaning on Frank's good side, her ankle appearing to be sprained or broken. Percy had a bruised jaw and blood on his shirt that didn't appear to be his; one arm was wrapped loosely around his stomach, potentially protecting some unseen injury. To Annabeth's immense relief, though, none of them bore visible life-threatening wounds.

"Whoa," Piper muttered when she spotted Atlas's huge, limp body. Frank stepped closer to inspect him, but Percy spared him only the briefest of glances as he paced toward Annabeth. Reaching the back of the sofa, he followed her gaze to the pair on the floor—Connor hunched low over his brother's now-lifeless body, shoulders shaking—and froze. He shot a sharp glance at Annabeth and it hurt her to meet his eyes. She saw the desperate question in them, the plea for assurance. But she had none. All she could do was cast her gaze down with a gentle shake of her head.

Percy turned his back and released a very loud string of curse words, stomping away and slamming a fist against the wall. By that time, Frank and Piper had approached in concern and were now standing solemnly by, exchanging regretful glances.

"We should get out of here," Annabeth suggested, her voice still empty as she steadied her breath to keep it from breaking. "Before the concert ends."

Percy dropped his arms and turned back to face his team. His expression was a fragile mix of exhaustion and uncertainty, like he wasn't sure exactly how to feel. He ran a hand through his hair and, with a glance at Connor, said, "Harley should have someone who can fly the jet, we'll just need to—"

"I can fly," Connor interrupted in a low, dry sort of voice, sitting up slowly.

Percy flinched as though someone had jabbed him with a needle. "Are you sure?"

Connor looked up at him, his dark blue eyes vaguely bloodshot but steady and clear. "I'm sure," he answered, tightening a fist over his knee. His eyebrows drew together and angled downward in a look of angry determination. "I want to get him home myself." Percy nodded in understanding.

"What about Atlas?" Piper asked quietly. "And those guys downstairs?"

Frank stepped forward. "I'll stay," he volunteered. "I'll call Harley and explain the situation. We should be able to get everything cleaned up by the time people start to leave. You guys should get back to New York before any more trouble starts."

Annabeth locked eyes with her fiancé. She didn't want to be insensitive, but there was another glaring issue that needed to be mentioned. "Once Kronos hears about this, he won't waste time," she said. "He'll come for us."

At his sides, Percy's hands clenched into fists. A distinct conviction appeared in the depths of his eyes, making Annabeth momentarily fear for his greatest enemy.

"Good. We'll be ready for him."

* * *

 **Only 5 chapters left now... We're getting so close.**

 **Review maybe? Hearts, gang! Later days!**

 **-oMM**


	16. Strength

**Hi again! Didn't edit this one overmuch, but I wanted to get it up since it's been over a week now. Thanks as always for the reviews! Enjoy!**

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The **war** is won before it's _begun_ / **Release** the doves, _surrender_ love

* * *

Percy wasn't happy.

Understatement of the year, of course—on the way home from Los Angeles, he experienced just about every emotion _other_ than happiness. He was relieved that Atlas had been defeated, but nervous for what would be coming next. Losing Travis Stoll—one of his best friends since high school—had him equal parts angry and grief-stricken, with a side of bitter and a dash of disgusted. The lump of regret in his throat was so thick he spent half of each minute holding his breath. It was like failing to save Nico all over again. Or Beckendorf, or Silena. He knew full well that war begot loss—begot death and pain. Everyone knew that. But that didn't stop the shock when it was _his_ pain, _his friend's_ death. No logic or prior understanding could lessen a blow such as that.

Percy didn't speak much until Annabeth came to sit next to him on the jet a few minutes into their flight back to New York. Wordlessly she offered him a sad smile and wound both her arms carefully around his injured right one, resting her head against his shoulder. He assumed she was picking up on his silent stoicism and he appreciated her thoughtfulness, but after the night they'd had she deserved a chance to talk if she wanted to. She'd been through a lot with Atlas that evening, and he didn't want her staying quiet for his benefit.

"How's it feel?" he asked her, gently taking her hand. He knew further explanation wouldn't be necessary.

"…Empty," she replied after a pause. "I think… I've been against him for so long now that I expected to feel some sort of… triumph or something. Like beating him would bring a kind of fulfillment. But… it didn't. In the end, he was… just another kill."

Percy leaned his head against Annabeth's, frowning at the back of the seat in front of them. "Maybe that's a good thing," he suggested. "Maybe it means you're… moving on. Letting your old life—your old ties—go."

"Maybe." She hunched her shoulders. "Or maybe it means there's something wrong with me."

"There's nothing wrong with you."

"I feel sick, thinking about it," she persisted. "Nauseous. Like all the pain I should feel in my heart is twisting around in my stomach instead."

"Maybe you're just airsick."

Annabeth sat up and shot him a dry, pointed look. He returned an amused half-smile, glad to see the familiar expression on her face.

"There's nothing wrong with you," he repeated more sincerely, reaching up to brush a tangled strand of hair from her forehead and letting his fingers trail the side of her face. "You're trying to feel too much, that's all. Trust me, I've been there. There's nothing wrong with staying strong at a time when everybody else is going crazy. One of us might as well be level-headed here."

She arched an eyebrow. "Oh, and that _has_ to be me?"

"Usually is."

Finally she cracked a smile, though there was sadness in her eyes. When she spoke again after a breath, her voice was lower and devoid of tension. "I'm sorry," she admitted, shaking her head and changing the subject. "I know it wasn't my fault, but… I just wish there was something I could've done."

The smile faded from Percy's face and he took a steady breath that seemed to squeeze at his heart. "So do I."

The rest of the flight was a relatively quiet affair. Together with Piper, they discussed their immediate post-landing plans and made arrangements to have an Olympus-owned ambulance meet them at the landing site for easy transport back to headquarters. After calling Jason and Thalia to recount the events of the evening (each had requested immediate updates after the fact), Percy decided he'd hold a meeting in the morning with whichever division heads were available on short notice to go over what had happened and what they intended to do next. Fortunately, the in-flight downtime and distractions allowed Percy an opportunity to bury his torrent of negative emotions beneath the surface of his mind. Unfortunately, it didn't exactly last long—it was all dug up again when the first person they saw upon returning to the Marten complex well past midnight Eastern Time was Harrison Stoll.

"Good, you're back," codename Hermes said to them as he exited the leasing office on the first floor to see the small group entering through the main entrance. His expression was grave, as though he knew bad news was forthcoming. "Percy, there's something I need—" He broke off the instant his eyes traveled through the glass doors to where Connor and their driver were wheeling the gurney bearing Travis's body out of their unorthodox ride by the sidewalk.

"Is that…?" he asked vaguely. "That's not…"

Percy opened his mouth, but he had no idea what to say. So he stayed silent as Connor pushed the gurney inside with dead eyes and Harrison approached his sons in stunned disbelief, clutching Connor by the shoulder and brushing Travis's hair with his fingers as though expecting it to wake him.

"How did this happen?" Harrison demanded, voice tight.

When Percy still didn't respond, Annabeth answered, "It was Atlas."

Harrison's dark blue eyes turned on her critically. "Atlas," he repeated with a growl. "I hope you killed him."

Annabeth met his gaze with just as much firmness. "We did."

Harrison nodded with satisfaction, turning back to his sons. "I never thought… No parent ever does…"

"Let's get him upstairs for now," Connor suggested sullenly. His father, still lost in the surprise and grief of it all, didn't argue.

"We should… get some rest," Piper suggested to Percy and Annabeth as the Stolls headed for the elevators. "I think we need it."

Percy was about to agree wholeheartedly when Harrison suddenly called back to him, "Oh, Percy, I was about to tell you—it's your dad. He's awake."

Percy's heart skipped a beat. "Awake? How is he?"

"I don't know." The emotion in Harrison's clouded eyes was unreadable. "But he asked to see you as soon as you returned. Something important. I'd get down there."

When the Stolls disappeared, Annabeth turned to Percy and gently touched his arm. "Want me to go with you?"

"No, I got it," he said, shaking his head. "Go on upstairs, I'll meet you there in a bit."

Annabeth nodded. "I'll wait in the downstairs lounge," she decided instead.

Percy grinned. "Of course you will."

As he headed to his father's hospital room, Percy felt a bizarre and uncomfortable mixture of excitement and dread. He wanted to be relieved that Parker was awake, but the way Harrison had sounded when delivering the message… Sure, he'd just received some terrible news of his own and was affected by it. But something about the situation didn't seem quite right. He hoped against all odds that his paranoid side was simply jumping to conclusions.

No such luck. When he reached the room he let himself in to find Paul Archer leaning over Parker's bed, checking his vitals, and the first thing he noticed was that his father looked no better than he had the last time Percy had visited. Parker's eyes were open as he lay on his back, propped up at an angle by a stack of white pillows, but his skin was unnaturally pale and his face was gaunt—corpse-like. He was no longer hooked up to any medical equipment.

"Percy," codename Apollo muttered, looking up at the disturbance. He wasn't wearing the doctor's coat he typically donned on this level of the building, indicating something of an impromptu examination.

Parker's head turned toward the door and for the first time in weeks he locked eyes with his son, who felt a distinct wave of cold as it happened. "Is he…?" Percy started to ask Paul, unable to finish the question.

Paul set the instruments he'd been holding down on the table beside Parker's bed and started across the room. He came to a halt beside Percy and set a hand on his shoulder.

Percy fought to keep from flinching. It felt too much like a condolence.

"He doesn't have much time," Paul informed him, voice just above a whisper as he confirmed exactly what Percy had begun to fear. "…I'll leave you alone."

As Paul left the room, Percy stared at the floor, trying to make it sink in that now, after weeks of uncertainty, his father really was dying. This could be—probably _would_ be—the last time they spoke to each other.

"Percy."

Percy blinked and looked up, forcing out, "Dad…"

Parker gave a tired smile. "I'm glad you're here. Should I ask where you've been?"

Something inside Percy hesitated; it still felt wrong to see his father this way. Every memory he had of Parker Grace was of strength and power. To see him now, so weak and close to death… It wasn't right. But like he'd said to Annabeth earlier that night, in every situation someone had to be strong. Someone had to hold himself up. Apparently now it was his turn.

"L.A.," Percy answered, letting some solidity back into his voice. "Fighting Atlas."

Parker's dark eyebrows jumped. "And?"

"He's not a problem anymore."

Codename Poseidon chuckled, shaking his head. "You're doing well," he noted. Sadness glassing his eyes, he added, "I'm sorry for putting so much on you."

Percy flinched. "No, I…" The last thing he wanted to do was make his dad feel guilty at a time like this—especially for something he'd had no control over. Walking closer and pulling up a chair beside Parker's bed, he argued, "It's nothing, really, I can—"

"Listen," Parker cut him off firmly, brow creasing. "Before your return, I… spoke with Grover."

Percy frowned. "About what?"

"About you. You've had it rough, haven't you?"

With a short sigh, Percy admitted, "It's been… harder than I thought, taking over. But I can handle it, really. Guess I just needed breaking in."

"Oh, I have no doubt you can handle it," Parker assured him. "No, not just 'handle'—you can excel at leading the family. But just because you can… doesn't mean you should."

"What? You don't think I…?" Percy glanced sideways, avoiding the look of concern in his father's heavy-lidded eyes. He had the sudden urge to explain himself, to make Parker see that he wasn't some sort of disappointment. "Look, I know things have been crazy lately, and… and we've lost a lot of people, but… but it's not just because of me, I mean, the agency—"

"No," Parker interrupted him again, coughing weakly. "That isn't what I meant. I firmly believe you're good for Zeke's position—I never would've recommended you for the job if I didn't. What I'm saying is… perhaps it's the job that isn't good for you." Alarmed, Percy looked up to see what looked like calm understanding in his dad's eyes. "Think about it—is this really the life you saw for yourself? Are you really doing what you promised all those years ago?"

With a pang of guilt Percy thought back on his life—on the vow he'd made long ago to protect the people he cared about. In the past few months alone he'd lost too many of those people, and all he'd done in his crusade to bring Olympus together suddenly felt supremely inadequate.

"No," he realized. "All that time on the phone or behind a desk—I don't feel right unless I'm out there, fighting for the things that matter to me. Maybe that's why I've been so messed up lately."

Parker smiled. "I understand. I was always the same way—feeling useless and incapable if I wasn't doing all I thought I could. I've lost some of that over the years in my age, but… on some level, it's still there. Why do you think I was there the night Kronos attacked? Risk or no risk, I had to do something, just like you feel you do. And though I wish that particular encounter had ended differently…" Sounding breathless, he waved a hand vaguely in indication of his current predicament, a direct result of said encounter. "I couldn't ever regret a decision I made to help, to be involved. That's exactly why the east coast has been under my oversight for so long. It's the hub of our trade operations, as you well know."

The increasingly-familiar tightness in Percy's throat intensified. "Yeah."

"The point I'm trying to make is… that the organization needs leaders like Harley, like the old Zeke. Business masterminds. But it also needs leaders like you and me—leaders in the field. Business is only half of what we do. Tactical skill is just as important—and that's something you have more of than my brothers ever did. I don't want you to throw that away for fear of disappointing anyone. I want you to do what makes you feel right."

Percy couldn't bring himself to return his father's encouraging smile. "Maybe central head _is_ wrong for me," he conceded, leaning forward to rest his arms on the edge of the hospital bed. "But… Does it matter? I can't just pass this off to someone else. There's not even anyone to pass it off _to_."

"We're a family, Percy," Parker responded calmly, patting a hand on his son's un-bandaged forearm. "There's always someone."

This time Percy didn't respond. He'd realized by now that the central head position didn't exactly agree with his personality and skill set, but his devotion to the family had so far kept him from so much as considering stepping down. But what if his father was right—what if there _was_ someone better suited out there? Was it possible that he could make himself more comfortable while also doing what was right for the organization?

"…One more thing," Parker went on, interrupting Percy's train of thought. "The night Kronos ambushed us, he spoke to me." His brow creased in consternation. "He talked about you."

Percy suppressed a swell of frustration at the new topic. "Me."

"Yes. There's no doubt he hates us all, but what he wants most is you." Parker grimaced. Speaking so much must have been causing him discomfort, but despite that he still seemed determined to get the words out. "He tried to make you his years ago. And instead of joining him, you joined his greatest enemy. You stole his best assassin. And now, you've taken out his right hand. He wants you dead—and he's so personally involved, I'm certain he'll want to kill you himself."

Percy ground his teeth; seeing his father in pain only made his own dislike for Victor Kronos grow more intense. "If you're telling me to watch my back, don't," he said—with a bit more harshness than he'd meant to. "I hope he does come after me. That way I get my own shot—a chance to stop him from killing people I love. To end this… before anyone else gets hurt."

To his slight surprise, Parker's expression relaxed into a small smile. "I was hoping you'd say that. No, I won't tell you to be careful. It's not a leader's job to be careful. I only wanted to make sure you see the opportunity here." His clouded, sea-green eyes swept over his son with increased fondness—a look Percy couldn't ever remember seeing before on that face. "…It looks like I needn't have worried," he went on in a quiet voice. "I always knew you'd grow up to be a good leader… a good man. But now, really seeing it… I'm prouder than I thought I'd be."

Percy cringed to hide the pain in his chest. "Dad, really?" he scoffed with a touch of humor. " _Now_ you're gonna get all mushy on me?"

Parker chuckled airily. "Let me have it, just this once. And let me give you… one last bit of advice. From father to son."

Percy swallowed hard, the lump in his throat growing thicker by the word. "What is it?"

Parker closed his eyes momentarily and replied, "Be… what I couldn't."

"What?"

"I tried to be… a father, to the organization." His voice was softer now , weaker. Each breath seemed to come shorter than the last. "A guide. And in the end, it wasn't enough to stop this war. Or to win it. What the family needs now is... a brother—a friend. Someone to grip their hand and fight alongside them. I couldn't give them that. You can."

Percy wanted to argue— _had_ to argue. "You say that like you weren't good enough," he protested, "like everything you did for the organization meant nothing. That's not true."

"Maybe not. But things are different now, you know that. You've seen it. What was good enough then isn't good enough anymore. Now... the family needs better. They need someone like you." He shook his head just barely. "Otherwise this war will destroy them."

Percy lowered his gaze, glaring at his hands. "That's a lot to ask," he muttered, feeling a little like a child for saying it—regardless of how true it was.

"It would be," Parker agreed, "if it were anyone else. But for you… All I'm asking is for you to be who you are." Percy looked up to see his dad watching him through half-lidded eyes, a gentle smile on his pale, tired face. "Trust your head," he said, "and your heart. It'll come more naturally than you think."

Reflexively Percy nodded. Suddenly he didn't need to think about it anymore. "Alright. I'll…" A determined expression formed itself on his face as he vowed, "I won't let you down."

"If there's one thing left I know to be true…" Parker whispered confidently, "that's it."

* * *

 **Still leading up to the big finale during this chapter and the next (which is also basically finished, so it'll be up next week). Then things get fun again :D**

 **Review? Thanks, all! Later days!**

 **-oMM**


	17. Damage

**Whoops, forgot about this. Bit later than I'd planned...**

* * *

Hey _young_ **blood** / Doesn't it feel like our **time** is _running out?  
_ I'm gonna **change** you like a _remix_ / Then I'll _raise_ you like a **phoenix**

* * *

Annabeth wished she could've taken Percy's advice and gotten some sleep. But despite the late hour, she had far too much on her mind to do so.

Duke Atlas was dead—dead at her own hands. And like she'd told her fiancé on the plane, the win didn't give her the satisfaction she'd expected it to. In a way, she felt as though a part of her had died along with her former boss. Maybe it was like Percy had said, and she was simply letting go of a piece of her past—a piece of who she used to be. But if that were really the case, why did she feel so sick and tired? So… heavy? Like her body just didn't agree with her mind?

"I still kind of can't believe it," Piper cut the silence, reading Annabeth's thoughts. Annabeth glanced to her right to see her friend sitting three seats down in the basement lounge, staring at her hands in her lap. "I mean, I saw it with my own eyes, but… After all that time we spent chasing him across the country, it's like… it seems wrong that it happened so fast."

"I know," Annabeth agreed sullenly, leaning back and lifting her eyes to the ceiling. "Almost like… what was the point of it all, right? If it was really so easy in the end." A painful spike dug into her chest as she thought back on the night—on what she and her friends had gone through. "No, I shouldn't say 'easy'," she backtracked guiltily. "It's just… It was different than I thought it'd be. That's all."

"Annabeth, are you okay?" Piper asked, turning toward her with clear concern on her face.

"I will be," Annabeth replied, lifting a shoulder. "I think I'm just… still kind of in shock, I guess. I just need to clear my head for a while. When Percy comes back, we'll—"

She broke off as a dull _ding_ interrupted and the doors to the nearest elevator slid open. This was surprising enough given that it was the middle of the night, but inside the lift was a very unlikely pair that momentarily rendered Annabeth speechless—Jason Sharpe, Ezekiel Grace's adopted son and heir, and seven-months-pregnant Katie Gardner.

"Uh… Morning, guys," Piper greeted them skeptically, also looking startled.

"I came as soon as I could," Jason told them with a frown. "Figured you'd need all hands on deck after tonight." He was dressed less formally than when they'd last met in dark jeans and a button-down shirt, his blond hair disheveled and shadowy circles under his eyes. He must have hopped a flight from Chicago as soon as he'd received their phone call a few hours ago.

"I heard from Paul you were back," Katie explained. "I thought I'd check in and see how things went. Ran into him in the lobby." She pointed a finger toward Jason. "Some story he's got there. Always was like Zeke to keep secrets, I guess."

"Yeah," Annabeth muttered absently, not really listening. The only thought circling her mind: _She doesn't know._

"So where's everyone else?" Katie asked, glancing back and forth between Piper and Annabeth and peering around as though the rest of their team was hiding in the vicinity. "Did your plan work?"

"It did," Annabeth answered, swallowing hard, "to a degree. Atlas is dead. I shot him myself."

"Wow, that's a relief," Katie observed with a smile. She sat down carefully a few seats to Annabeth's left and went on, "You should be happy—this whole thing was your idea! You won!"

"Don't remind me," Annabeth complained with a pained grimace, eliciting a questioning glance from Katie.

 _I have to tell her_ , she ordered herself firmly. _There's no use playing around with it. She deserves the truth._ She glanced at Piper, who inclined her head solemnly, and at Jason, who remained standing a few feet in front of the elevator and watched in respectful silence.

"There's something you need to know," Annabeth said, looking Katie in the eye and keeping her voice steady.

Katie's gaze darkened—she could tell something was wrong. "Annabeth, what happened?" she asked with sympathy. Annabeth wasn't sure what Katie was expecting, but she wasn't the one who needed to be sympathetic.

"I beat Atlas," she repeated, "but… not right away. Not without a fight. Not before… he killed some of our members—including Travis."

For a second, Annabeth wasn't sure Katie had understood her. She stared at her blankly, as though the language passing between them wasn't English. Then her eyebrows knitted together in a frown and she said, "What do you…? But, that didn't—couldn't happen, it's…"

Annabeth took a slow breath, refusing to break eye contact. "He's dead, Katie," she said—gently but with finality. "I'm sorry."

" _No_ ," Katie argued, voice growing stronger in contrast to Annabeth's. She set a hand protectively on her stomach, chocolate eyes growing wide with hurt and disbelief. "No, I _told_ him to be careful—to come _back_. Lila… He _promised me…_ "

Annabeth winced. She'd lost people in her life, but never someone as close to her as Katie and Travis had been to each other. The only similar occasion had happened three months ago, when she'd been convinced for a short time that Zeke had killed Percy in a jealous vendetta. But of course, her fiancé hadn't really been dead. She wasn't sure if the situation could truly be compared.

"If it means anything," she tried, "we couldn't have done it without him. If it hadn't been for him, Atlas might've killed Connor and me both."

Katie's eyes filled instantly with tears—as though one of the words Annabeth had just uttered was some sort of trigger. She hunched forward and covered her face with her hands, an anguished sob tightening her shoulders. Annabeth thought of reaching out to her, but something inside held her back. She wasn't entirely convinced she had the right to provide comfort.

To her slight relief, Piper had no such reservations. She stood and limped across the room (her twisted ankle was much better after having been reset) at once, dropping into the seat on Katie's other side and wrapping both arms around her. Katie leaned reflexively into her and relaxed as tears fell from her eyes.

Jason dropped heavily into the nearest chair, looking as though the heavy atmosphere had begun pressing down on him. For a while none of them spoke—just sat in sullen, stifling silence. Annabeth stared at the floor and repeated in her mind what Katie had said: _This whole thing was your idea! You won!_ She was right, of course—this whole thing _had_ been her idea. The night after their successful raid of the CIA's headquarters building, she'd suggested that the best thing for them to do would be to stay on the offensive—to draw Atlas into a fight in order to take him down. But now, looking back, she realized something—when she'd made that decision, she was thinking like an assassin. She'd slipped back into the CIA mindset, with her focus zeroed on the end goal and her senses blind to collateral damage. And so she'd succeeded in defeating Atlas, her goal, but the collateral damage had been Travis and their other teammates—people she hadn't even known. She'd told Reyna she wanted to be like Percy and her mother Adelyn—living for the purpose of protecting those close to her. Well, so far she wasn't doing a very good job of that.

 _But I can do better,_ she decided adamantly. _No, I have to do better. This is my family now. I owe them at least that much._

The _ding_ of another elevator drew her attention, this time announcing the arrival of a very tired and careworn Connor Stoll. The second he stepped into the lounge, Katie stood from her chair and grabbed him, pulling him into a tight embrace. Wordlessly he slid his arms around her back and let her bury her face against his shoulder.

"He was thinking of you," Connor told Katie softly without pretext. "In the end, I mean. The last thing he said was…" He pulled back to look her in the eye. "He wanted me to look after you and Lila." With a sad smile, he joked weakly, "I didn't have the heart to tell him you're tough enough to look after yourself."

Katie gave a small smile and gently swatted Connor on the arm. "You're right about that."

"We're all here, though," Piper spoke up to Katie. "For both of you—all of you."

"I promise to try and make up for this," Annabeth added, earning an encouraging smile from Katie. "Lila Gardner will grow up with the single greatest family anyone could ever have. You watch."

As Piper nodded enthusiastically in agreement, Katie glanced at the child growing inside her and muttered. "Stoll."

Annabeth frowned. "What?"

Looking up, Katie clarified, "Her name is… I want to call her Lila Stoll."

With a smile, Annabeth replied, "You're right. That sounds better."

Connor and Katie took the time then to sit down amid the others, but barely a few seconds of silence passed before footsteps from down the hall stopped the conversation from resuming. They waited impatiently until, finally, Percy appeared around the corner.

"How is he?" Annabeth asked at once, having been anxious about Parker's condition ever since her fiancé had disappeared a short while ago. The second he looked at her, though, she realized she needn't have asked—the pain in his eyes was indicative enough.

Glancing around at the group, Percy let his shoulders drop just barely noticeably. He shook his head in defeat and answered, "He's dead."

"No…" Piper muttered, lowering her gaze. Connor and Katie followed suit, their own sadness renewed. Annabeth bit her lip as her fiancé sat down beside her, a certain stiffness in his movements that likely had little to do with physical injury. She slid closer in her chair and took his hand, brushing her fingers across his skin in a soothing rhythm.

"You mean your dad… I'm sorry," Jason told Percy from his seat across the room, looking regretful. "I wish I'd gotten a chance to meet him, but… With Zeke…"

"I know," Percy responded. He didn't appear to have shed any tears, and briefly Annabeth wondered if that was due to strength or some unhealthy self-denial. "Thanks for coming. I've got a feeling we're gonna need your help real soon."

Jason nodded. "You'll have it."

Annabeth was about to inquire as to their plans for the immediate future when a loud buzzing hum suddenly interrupted and Percy shifted beside her. He reached into the pocket of his jeans and removed his cell, revealing it to be the source. The screen was lit with an incoming call, but the number flashing on it was unfamiliar.

She saw his finger slide toward the lock button to ignore it and said quickly, "You should get that. It could be important."

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. "It's the middle of the night."

"Exactly my point," Annabeth insisted. "Who calls this late unless it's important?"

Rolling his eyes, Percy tapped the surface of his phone and brought it to his ear, offering a gruff "Jackson," in greeting. He was silent for a few seconds, eyebrows drawing together in confusion. "Who is this?" he asked sharply as everyone in the room waited in absolute silence. After a beat his expression grew hard as stone and a dark, almost frightening intensity appeared in his eyes. "How did you get this number?" he demanded as he jumped to his feet, voice dropping almost an octave.

Alarmed, Annabeth stood up beside him, fixing him with a bemused frown. Important or not, whoever was on the other line clearly wasn't someone he wanted to talk to.

Percy's eyes darted toward Jason as he listened, prompting the CFO to lean backward in a defensive sort of manner, seeming to tense. Annabeth wasn't the only one glancing curiously back and forth between the two as a buzzing silence stretched until Percy said tersely, "What do you want?" Barely a few more seconds passed before his eyes widened harshly and he spun around and paced two steps, growling into his phone, "Listen to me, you son of a—!"

He broke off and froze, and Annabeth wanted so badly to ask what in the world was going on. It took a large fraction of her strength of will to refrain, her rationale knowing not to interrupt. He would tell her when the call was over.

Percy turned to the side and Annabeth watched him grit his teeth in frustration. "Meaning what, exactly?" he snapped. He waited as the person on the other line spoke, his expression twisting into a snarl as the seconds passed. "And you're killing my family!" he shouted. "You think it's the _same thing?_ "

Annabeth breathed in quickly. After that, she was beginning to suspect she knew exactly whom her fiancé was speaking with.

"Keep stalling," Percy said stonily, tapping his foot in an agitated manner. "I'll hang up."

Annabeth exchanged a worried, serious glance with Piper to her left as Percy yelled, "So spit it out already!" The air in the lounge was so thick and tense as everyone waited in nervous silence for the end of a conversation they weren't part of. Judging by the bewildered looks on the faces around her, many of the others hadn't yet drawn the conclusion Annabeth had.

Percy clucked his tongue angrily. "Yeah, right. What makes you think I'm that stupid?" he demanded. After another few seconds, though, he took a slow breath and said evenly, "…Fine. I'll be there."

He finally lowered the phone from his ear and tapped the screen, ending the call. Annabeth took a tentative step toward him as he stood stiffly near the doorway to the south hall, hands twisting tightly into balled fists at his sides and ordinarily-bright eyes glaring darkly at the floor as though the carpet had just insulted his closest relative.

"Who was that?" she asked carefully.

His gaze snapped up to meet hers and she couldn't help but recoil a tiny bit at the venom in it. She felt no surprise whatsoever when he answered with a measure of restrained harshness, "Victor Kronos."

"What?" Jason blurted amid numerous exclamations of surprise. " _How?_ "

"They found your mole," Percy told him with a scowl. "Shared a few numbers."

Jason looked horrified. "He _sold you out?_ That good for nothing—! I swear, man, if I'd known he was the snitching type, I'd—"

"No, it's okay," Percy assured him, having appeared slightly surprised at Jason's reaction. "I believe you, I don't think this was your fault. Either way, I think I'm gonna need a new phone, stat…"

Piper slid forward on her seat. "What did he want?"

"He knows about Atlas. What we did. And just like we do, he thinks we've all done more than enough damage—now it's time to end this. He said he wants to meet with me, face to face."

"How does he plan on doing that?" Annabeth wondered suspiciously.

"By inviting me to a party, apparently."

"What?"

Percy shook his head, rolling his eyes. "Seems he's in the area. He's rented out this theater in Times Square tomorrow night—said he's throwing a 'dinner theater extravaganza' and wants me to attend. He made sure to tell me to bring a date, so I'm thinking it's a trap for you, too."

"Wait, tomorrow?" Jason asked, seeming to perk up in interest. "Is it at the Baltic?"

Percy blinked in surprise. "Yeah. How did you—?"

"I got an invitation to that party, too," Jason explained with incredulity. "Came in the mail a couple weeks ago, addressed to the acting CEO of United. It was from some financial guild and said something about a business expo after the show. I never responded—not really my kind of thing."

"Wow," Piper observed. "Small world."

"If it's really Kronos who's holding this thing," Annabeth concluded, "he must have been trying to draw you out, figuring the next head of the company was probably related to Olympus just as Zeke was."

"Well," Jason said with a shrug, "guess I'll be going now."

"Wait, he still doesn't know you're involved," Percy pointed out. "Assuming your guy didn't spill _all_ the beans… Either way, it's probably safer if you sit this one out."

"Safer for me, maybe," Jason argued, climbing to his feet. "But right now, it looks like all his focus is on you. You're not going to this thing alone. Besides, I was invited. Not like it's suspicious for me to answer a formal invitation."

"He's got a point," Annabeth said to her fiancé. They could use the extra help.

Finally, Percy nodded. "Alright. But let's not be idiots and show up together."

Jason smirked. "Good call."

"Do you get a plus-one, too, Mr. Big-Time CEO?" Piper asked Jason, standing up and elbowing him in the side. When he took an awkward step back and replied in the affirmative, she grinned and crossed her arms. "Excellent, then I'm coming with. We'll make it a double date."

Somehow Annabeth couldn't help a smile. "Sounds like fun," she joked.

"So… you want us to spread the word?" Connor suggested. "Maybe grab a few more attendees? Or, you know… keep it under wraps?"

Percy glanced down at the floor, rotating his jaw in thought. "No," he decided slowly. "This time, I think we'll be safer if no one knows—not even Harley. If Kronos really did rent out the whole theater, he'll know if any uninvited guests show up. It'll just put any backup we bring in danger. And I am sick and tired of putting people I love in danger."

 _He's right,_ Annabeth thought inwardly. _No more collateral damage._

Percy turned to meet Annabeth's uneasy gaze and something in his eyes struck her—a hidden certainty and conviction that hadn't been there before, not at such a true level. He'd always seemed sure and powerful to her, but somehow, after watching his father die—after whatever they'd talked about with Parker's last breaths—he looked more a leader now than she had ever seen him before.

"This started with us," he told her. "And that's how we're gonna finish it. One way or another… this war ends tomorrow night."

* * *

 **Okay, only three more chapters!**

 **'Til next time, later days!**

 **-oMM**


	18. Trigger

**Hey, look, I'm alive!**

 **So that hiatus wasn't exactly planned, but I got a new job in February and it changed my entire routine around. It was a long time before I had time to get back to writing this.**

 **The good news, though, is all three remaining chapters are finished! And yes, I'm going to post them all right now. So there was an unfortunate wait, and it _was_ quite long. But now, as a thank-you for waiting (all those of you who are reading this, anyway, and haven't given up on this series), you get the entire conclusion right now. Almost 15,000 words altogether.**

 **Now, where did we leave off? Ah, yes...**

* * *

Wearing our vintage _misery_ / No, I think it looked a little **better** on me  
I'm gonna **change** you like a _remix_ / Then I'll _raise_ you like a **phoenix**

* * *

" _Jackson."_

" _Been a while, Percy. Tell me. How have you been?"_

" _Who is this?"_

" _I hear you're been busy since college—made a real name for yourself. A muddy name, of course—written in blood and ash and all that. In retrospect, it makes me rather glad you turned down my job offer back then."_

" _How did you get this number?"_

" _You can't send a friend into_ my house _and not expect me to take the time to get to know him. It wasn't easy to get him to talk, but as you undoubtedly learned from Mr. Valdez, we do have the means. And, well—once I had a line I couldn't help giving you a call myself."_

" _What do you want?"_

" _I want what you want—an end. This cat and mouse nonsense has gone on long enough. How long do you think it'll be before another accident like your father's happens? And next time the outcome may be less favorable—we could lose a lot more than a notorious crime lord."_

" _Listen to me, you son of a—!"_

" _Don't go getting self-righteous on me, boy! Remember who's on which side of the law here, whose acts are more readily justified. You think you're free of blame?_ You? _Well, not to disillusion your heroic fantasy, but you and I aren't as different as you undoubtedly tell yourself."_

" _Meaning what, exactly?"_

" _Come now, do I need to spell it out for you? No one_ wins _in war, Mr. Jackson. There is only loss. And I've lost just as much to this fight as you have. You've killed far too many of my agents—_ good _agents. Now you've even taken my right hand—my best man."_

" _And you're killing my family! You think it's the_ same thing _?"_

" _Isn't it? You and I… We're like two powerful storms, destroying everything in our path as we chase after each other. All this pain and bloodshed… It has to end. Now. I could go on eliminating your toy soldiers until none remain, but I'd rather not risk losing any more of my own agents in the process. Innocent, law-abiding citizens who—"_

" _Keep stalling. I'll hang up."_

" _Alright, alright. I called because this—this war—is between you and me. It started that way, and I thought maybe you'd agree that it should end that way as well. I have a… proposition for you. If you're interested."_

" _So spit it out already!"_

" _I'm holding an event at the Baltic theater in Times Square tomorrow evening—a dinner theater extravaganza, if you will. I'd like you to attend. It'll give us a chance to meet face to face—hopefully for the last time."_

" _Yeah, right. What makes you think I'm that stupid?"_

" _Not stupid. Desperate. At least as desperate as I am. And this late in the game, we have no other options. So… What do you say?"_

"… _Fine. I'll be there."_

" _Good. And—feel free to bring a date. It is a party, after all. What's a party without a little fun?"_

Percy woke with a jolt as the laughing voice of Victor Kronos rang in his mind. His phone conversation with the CIA Director late the previous night had been brief but by no means forgettable—at least, not if his evidently-masochistic subconscious had anything to say about it. The entire dialogue had been on a non-stop replay in his ears all morning.

Pressing both palms to his forehead, Percy sat up with a groan. His head ached incessantly—another note of misfortune that hadn't receded for hours. He rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to regain his bearings. He didn't have time to dwell on Kronos's jibes (no matter what inklings of truth they may have contained).

Come to think of it, did he really have time to be nodding off, for that matter? He remembered being awake for most of the night, troubled and anticipating the following day, then having a meager breakfast with Annabeth and Grover in the morning (not that any of them had eaten much of anything), then parting ways to get everything together before it was time to prepare for Kronos's party…

Blinking the haziness from his eyes, Percy sat up straighter and looked around. He was on the sofa in his father's penthouse apartment, still dressed in the clothes he'd thrown on early that day after giving up on getting a decent night's rest. With a stab of nervousness he reached over and snatched his cell phone from the coffee table. He winced when he noticed a couple missed calls and text messages, but none of it seemed terribly urgent, so he made the slightly-irresponsible decision to ignore them all for now. It was almost four o'clock, anyway; with Kronos's event set for six, he figured he might as well start getting ready.

Physically preparing was a simple task—it was the mental aspect about which he was less certain. Keeping himself busy was the best way not to think about what Kronos had said; soon enough, though, he was dressed and ready, and with little left to distract him he decided on dropping in on Annabeth to see if she'd finished as well.

When he opened the door to the one-room apartment she'd been crashing, he caught a brief glimpse of his fiancée, who was noticeably less than half-dressed, before she whirled around with a startled, "Hey!" and leapt behind the nearest piece of furniture.

"It's just me," he told her as he shut the door, unable to keep from smiling in amusement. "You know, you could've locked the door."

Annabeth shot him a pointed glance as she relaxed and stood up straight, one hand on her hip and the other holding the dress she'd yet to put on. "Most people knock," she argued.

He shrugged. "I'm not most people. Need any help?"

"I will in a minute, actually, yeah." She carefully lifted her black dress over her already-done-up hair and let it drop, shifting it until the fabric comfortably hugged her curves and the hem fell to the floor. She stepped in front of the full-length mirror against the closet door and turned her back to him, exposing a long, open zipper that stretched from her collar to her waist.

She watched his reflection as he approached her, and when his hands touched her dress she said in a soft voice, "I'm not okay."

He stopped halfway through fastening the zipper. "What?"

"I know you're probably about to ask if I'm okay, so I'm preempting it by telling you the answer," she explained as he frowned at her reflection. "I'm not. I'm… scared."

Percy took a step closer to Annabeth. "I am, too," he admitted.

"I feel sick just thinking of what we're about to do—what we're going up against. What… what could happen. I've already thrown up twice today," she added with a weak chuckle.

He smiled, dragging the zipper on her dress farther upward until it reached the clasp. "Well, if it helps at all," he went on, sliding his hands over her shoulders and down her arms and taking in her reflection in the mirror, "you look beautiful."

She cracked a smile in return, then twisted around to face him. Reaching up to straighten his tie, she replied, "You don't look so bad yourself." She gave his tie a gentle tug and he gladly leaned toward her, pressing his lips to hers.

When they separated, he slid his arms around her and pulled her into him, letting her rest her head on his shoulder with a sigh. He could feel the tension in her body when she asked, "Is this ever actually gonna end?"

"What do you mean?"

"Say we kill Kronos tonight. Do you really think the government will stop hunting Olympus down?"

"Kronos is the one with a vendetta against us—you and me, particularly. With him out of the way… Sure, we won't be totally out of the woods. But it'll get better—easier. Plus, it'll send one hell of a message."

Her grip on him tightened. "Okay… But turn it around. If… If you die—if he kills you, what's to stop the rest of the family from retaliating? They'll seek revenge. And… the war will go on forever, until there's no one left to fight it."

Percy forced back a grimace and chuckled instead. "You'll just have to beat up anybody who tries."

Annabeth retracted an arm and punched him in the ribs. "That's not funny," she scolded, backing up to glare at him. "Please tell me you realize how dangerous this is."

His smile faded at the serious expression on her face. "Of course I do," he replied, letting go of her and taking a few steps backward. "What, you think I'm an idiot? We're going up against one of the most dangerous men alive—and who-knows-how-many other trained killers. I _could_ die— _we_ could die tonight, all of us. Our fight could be over… just like that." Percy ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He'd intended to try his best to remain confident in the hours leading up to their confrontation with Victor Kronos. Discussing the worst-case scenario wasn't exactly the way to go about sticking to that intention.

Annabeth wrapped her arms around herself as though fighting a chill. Soberly she asked in a quiet voice, "So what do we do?"

Percy sighed shortly, staring at the floor. He considered the question for a second—but only for a second. There was just one answer, after all.

"We fight anyway," he decided, raising his gaze to glance seriously at his fiancée. "If we don't… we miss what could be our only shot."

Slowly she smiled, some of the tightness receding from her stance. "I suppose… it'd be worth it, huh?" she asked rhetorically. When he smiled back, she stepped closer and added, "Promise me something."

"What?"

"When today's over… we take a break from all this. Not a long one—just enough time to plan our wedding without having to worry about getting shot. Okay?"

Reaching out to touch Annabeth's hand, Percy grinned. "That sounds like a great idea."

-0-0-0-

The Baltic theater, as it turned out, was rather small in comparison to the heavy hitters in Times Square, and was actually located on a side street off of Seventh Avenue. Percy and Annabeth had no trouble gaining access, despite their lack of written invitation, and were seated at—big surprise—a table right in front of center stage. They could see Jason and Piper four tables to their right, but they made no contact with the other half of their team save for an exchange of cordial glances. The programs they were given upon arrival informed them that dinner would be served at six o'clock, and the play would begin at 6:15. There would be a half-hour intermission between acts, and a short presentation following the show before the expo was opened in the secondary event hall.

Evidently, everyone invited was some kind of corporate high-roller like Jason. Each of them had a title and a business card and a private car—the whole nine yards. It made Percy a bit nervous—not because he felt inferior or anything, but because any one of them could very well be in on Kronos's plan.

As it turned out, however, he would have to wait to find out for sure. Dinner was served right on schedule and the show (which turned out to be some indie production about a kid going off to war) began without a hitch. In the dark theater hall, Percy paid the stage little attention and instead kept his eyes and ears trained as inconspicuously as he could on his surroundings, his reflexes poised should anything disrupt the festivities. He was also sure to try and spot Kronos in the crowd—surely he had to be watching them. Why else would he have placed them so close to the stage? But when nothing out of the ordinary happened by the end of the first act, he settled on the begrudging realization that the CIA Director must have been waiting until the remaining guests were busy at the expo to make his move.

That is—until the theater hall began to empty for the half-hour intermission and one of the caterers tapped Percy on the shoulder as he approached the exit doors.

"Excuse me, sir," the man said with a polite inclination of his head. "Our host would like a word. It's about your presentation for the expo later this evening."

Percy considered pointing out that he wasn't presenting—and subsequently avoiding what was quite an obvious ploy to get him alone. But a quick glance showed him that they'd drawn the attention of a number of surrounding onlookers. Making a scene would likely not be in anyone's best interest.

"Sure," he told the caterer. "Lead the way."

When Annabeth held back to follow, the man reached out a hand to stop her. "Oh, you needn't worry, miss," he told her. "This won't take long."

She looked about to argue, but Percy quickly interrupted, "It's okay, go ahead." In response to her skeptical look, he added with a meaningful glance of his own, "Just watch for me outside, okay?"

After a second she smiled and said, "Of course," and the gleam in her eyes told him she'd understood exactly what he'd meant.

He followed the caterer back inside the theater hall as the last of the evening's attendees filed out to where an open bar and dessert buffet awaited them. He was led straight up to the edge of the stage, where a second man in a caterer's uniform was awaiting them. Percy felt his muscles tense as the man stepped aside and stood at his left; now he had a slightly-sketchy guy standing threateningly on either side of him, and he didn't particularly like it.

His attention was diverted when suddenly the stage curtain began to rise, revealing behind it a lone figure—first a pair of shiny, black shoes, then a pristine dark suit, and finally an age-worn face framed by slick, white hair.

At last, Victor Kronos had decided to show himself.

The CIA Director's was a face Percy hadn't seen in years—not in person, anyway. As such, he'd forgotten just how impressive a figure Kronos cut. Standing there in his perfect suit with his perfect hair and his perfect posture, it was obvious to any observer just how much power this man possessed.

But rather than frighten Percy, this served to remind him of a fact he'd begun to doubt since their phone conversation—evil or not, this man was the enemy. _His_ enemy. And no matter the lawful justification for Kronos's actions, the only way to end the war that had taken the lives of so many of Percy's loved ones was to end him.

And as Annabeth had said—a victory like that was worth any risk.

"Welcome, Mr. Jackson," Kronos greeted him with a false smile showing perfectly white teeth. His cool, smooth voice seemed to flow from his lips like oil. "It's good to have you with us this evening. For a while, at least."

"Thanks for having me," Percy replied calmly, rationing roughly half of his attention for the men on either side of him in case they tried something. "For a while."

The corner of Kronos's mouth tilted upwards. "It's nice, isn't it?" he went on, lifting an arm and indicating the stage on which he was standing, still set from the last scene of the play. "I rather thought it'd be the perfect setting for our little 'showdown'. It's sure to be iconic, wouldn't you agree?"

Percy felt a scowl attempt to twist his features as he stared Kronos in his icy blue eyes. "A little much," he responded. "Can't say I'm the theatrical type. Publicity was never really my thing."

Kronos chuckled, pacing two steps to his left. "Oh, but it will be. After tonight, I expect we'll see your name in every newspaper. After all…" His lips spread in a smug sneer. "The death of a dangerous criminal is more than worthy of the front page."

Kronos's eyes flitted upward and Percy felt his throat tighten in dread. He had a hunch he knew exactly what the CIA Director was looking at.

A sniper.

Gritting his teeth, Percy started to spin around, but the men on either side of him were faster. They grabbed tightly onto his arms and shoved him to one knee, and in the split second before the gunshot blared he felt a powerful wave of confused disbelief. How the hell had he let himself get caught off guard so quickly?

But then another second passed after the loud bang, and another, and another after that. He wasn't dead—wasn't even hit. The men flanking him must have been just as surprised as he was, because he could feel their grips loosen. Taking the chance, he tore himself from their captivity and spun around, searching for the source of what had definitely been the sound of a gunshot—just in time to see the limp form of a woman in black slump from the mezzanine and fall like a sack of flour to the floor below. She landed on a table still laden with dirty dinner dishes and it collapsed beneath her dead weight.

" _What?_ " Kronos growled from the stage. "How— _You!_ "

Percy looked back and followed Kronos's gaze to the left mezzanine door, through which the true source of the gunshot had just strode purposefully.

"Oh, was she supposed to be your new star assassin?" Kronos's former star assassin called to him in a falsely apologetic tone. "I'm sorry. Guess I just don't like being replaced."

Percy grinned at Annabeth as she twirled her handgun around her fingers before stretching her arms and taking deadly aim at her former employer. It seemed she'd taken his request to keep an eye on him to heart.

" _Enough!_ " Kronos shouted angrily. "Move in! Now! I want them all DEAD!"

Apparently that was the signal to do away with all formality. Percy heard movement from behind him and dropped to the ground, expecting gunfire. And he wasn't disappointed. Kronos's two goons—and possibly also the head honcho himself—had pulled weapons immediately and starting firing.

Yanking his own gun from beneath his jacket, Percy rolled sideways beneath the nearest of the round tables dotting the theater hall, earning himself a moment of cover. He unclipped the tiny radio from his inner jacket pocket and held it near his mouth, saying into it, "Showtime, Jase, get the hell back in here." Then he threw it aside just as one of the fake caterers lowered to a crouch and tried to get a good shot at him. No such luck, though, as he was already darting out from under the table. He landed a shot in the closest man's shoulder, knocking him onto his back, and immediately pivoted to hurl two more bullets into the other's chest.

He thought he'd be safe for a moment, but Kronos's order to move hadn't gone unanswered. When Percy spared a second to survey the area, he noticed with a jolt that an alarming number of agents—many dressed as theater employees—had entered the hall. So had Jason and Piper, he was glad to see, but the opposition was keeping them quite busy.

That second, as it turned out, was all Percy had. He was forced at once to duck more continued gunfire as somebody rushed him from the side, tackling him to the floor. He kicked the woman off right away, but not before she dragged what felt like a knife along the side of his jaw. Annoyed, he grabbed her wrist and twisted it, forcing her to drop her blade, then jammed his palm against her face, breaking her nose. He didn't exactly need _another_ new scar. Sure, it was sort of a lucky break, considering that she'd probably been aiming for his jugular. But that didn't stop him from disliking the fact that his face was starting to look like a game of tic-tac-toe.

Not that he had much time to dwell on it. As soon as he jumped back to his feet, an usher appeared out of nowhere and landed a punch below Percy's right eye. He stumbled back against a wooden chair and quickly grabbed it reflexively. Regaining his footing, he lifted the chair and hurled it against his newest attacker, causing it to break apart and him to stagger sideways to one knee. The man seemed to be just as quick of a thinker as he was, though, because he snatched up a broken chair leg and lunged with it. Percy jerked to the side and very narrowly avoided being stabbed in the stomach, inside grabbing the makeshift weapon with one hand and using it as leverage to tug the man forward. He jabbed an elbow into the guy's forehead and then was able to pull the chair leg from his grasp. He swung it like a baseball bat and grand-slammed the usher in the head.

 _This is stupid,_ Percy couldn't help thinking as he ducked more gunfire and dashed from one table to the next. _I need to go after Kronos. Knock down the kingpin and the rest will follow._

But by the time Percy found his gun and began making for the stage, he noticed one conspicuous flaw with this plan—Kronos was no longer standing on it. He clucked his tongue and glanced from side to side, but the mess of activity made locating one man much easier said than done. Just when he was about to give up and go back to incapacitating the Director's agents one by one, a familiar voice said from behind him, "Looking for me? Now you know how it feels."

Percy spun around and scrambled backward in reflexive avoidance, but whatever ground he covered made no difference. Kronos was ready for him, .45 in hand and barrel aimed with perfect precision at the left side of Percy's chest.

He'd barely taken a breath by the time Kronos pulled the trigger.

* * *

 **Moving on in just a mo'...**

 **-oMM**


	19. Black

**Aaaaand we're back! Time for the exciting conclusion... Haha ;)**

* * *

Hey _young_ **blood** / Doesn't it feel like our **time** is _running out?_  
I'm gonna **change** you like a _remix_ / Then I'll _raise_ you like a **phoenix**

* * *

Annabeth had just made it down from the mezzanine (despite quite a few attempts to stop her in her tracks) when she spotted Kronos through the crowd, and she was still a distance away when she watched him shoot her fiancé in the chest.

Her heart skipped a beat as Percy was thrown onto his back by the force of the bullet, and she had to quickly remind herself not to worry. She knew his suit jacket was lined with Kevlar—a safety precaution upon which she'd insisted—so the direct hit would undoubtedly bruise, but his life wasn't forfeit just yet.

Rather, she'd be a complete idiot not to make good use of Kronos's temporary distraction. Her gun had been stolen a few minutes ago, so without another glance at her fiancé, she rushed silently up behind her former employer and left him only a few seconds to laugh in imagined triumph before she threw an arm around his neck and trapped him in a tight chokehold.

She didn't expect the move to be a checkmate, but with luck it would at least serve to shake him up and distract him for a time. His laugh turned at once to a frustrated growl as his hands shot up and latched onto Annabeth's arm. He pointed his gun blindly over his left shoulder, but she shifted easily out of his line of fire. She kicked at the back of his leg in an attempt to force him to his knees, but it didn't quite work. Instead she earned a sharp elbow to the ribs before he was finally able to tear her arm away from him. She took a few hurried steps backward as he whirled around and was ready to grab his gun arm the second he stretched it out. She twisted, still holding onto him, and stomped hard on his foot, then smacked the back of her head against his nose. She wrested the gun from his grip, but before she secured a solid hold on it he snagged a handful of her hair and pulled her head back. She gritted her teeth as pain snaked across her scalp and somehow allowed Kronos to knock the weapon from her hands. She fought herself free and turned, placing a bit of distance between the two of them.

"I understand why you might be a bit put off," Kronos said to her, his voice a growl from exertion. "How does it feel, Chase? Now that I've taken away the reason you betrayed me in the first place. I have to ask—why do you still bother fighting?"

As he talked, Annabeth did her best to stare straight at him, regardless of how badly she wanted to look behind him at her fiancé. She was rewarded for her efforts by Kronos's complete lack of preparedness when Percy appeared behind him and swung a metal serving tray against the side of his head, saying harshly as the man collapsed, "'Cause you're a dick."

Unable to stop herself, Annabeth reached out and grabbed the front of Percy's jacket, pulling it open and surveying his shirt for blood. As she'd suspected, there was none—in fact, the bullet was still embedded safely in the thick fabric over his heart.

"You alright?" she asked seriously.

"Yeah, fine." He was breathing heavily, undoubtedly winded from the extreme blunt force right over one of his lungs. Aside from that, and a few scratches and bruises, he seemed perfectly healthy.

"How…" Kronos grunted as he rolled over and started to regain his bearings through what was sure to be a throbbing headache. "You were hit…"

Percy shrugged, tossing the serving tray aside. "I'm immortal. Shame you didn't figure that out before starting a losing fight."

With a growl, Kronos sprang to his feet, his speed surprising even Annabeth. He lunged for them and they quickly dodged to either side. As he pivoted and went for Percy, Annabeth took a few steps back and scoured the vicinity for a gun. She found one—but unfortunately for her it was still in the hands of a disguised agent. She threw herself to the ground as wild gunfire flew in her general direction and used the nearby tables as cover to try and get closer to the shooter. She threw a half-eaten dinner roll across the floor as a distraction and, when the agent looked away, darted out from her hiding place and attacked him. One hand pushed down his outstretched arms, pointing his gun at the floor, and with the other she threw a well-aimed punch at his cheekbone. When he twisted and got his gun back up, she ducked beneath his arms and came up on his right, swinging an arm over his and lifting a leg to land a roundhouse kick to his side. He doubled over and tried to drive his shoulder into her stomach, but she wound her leg around his neck and leapt off the ground, using her weight to force him the rest of the way to the floor. His head smacked the carpet and he went limp.

Annabeth grabbed the agent's gun and whirled toward the stage in time to see Kronos successfully mimic her earlier move—he swung an arm around Percy's neck from behind, locking him in place. Apparently, though, _he_ wasn't intending it as a simple stall tactic.

"Nothing is immortal!" he yelled harshly as he whipped a five-inch blade from his jacket and held it out with taut muscles.

Annabeth's heart leapt into her throat. She quickly raised the agent's gun and fired, miraculously throwing a bullet at the knife's steel point and knocking it from Kronos's hand just as he began pulling it in.

Technically, she'd been aiming to shoot Kronos in the forearm. But this worked just as well. Another second and he would've gutted her fiancé.

As his blade went flying, Kronos shouted in alarm and, to Annabeth's relief, Percy used his distraction well. He threw a fist over his shoulder and punched Kronos in the face, then staggered backward and around to hurl Kronos's back against the edge of the stage. This caused the man to loosen his grip enough for Percy to duck out from under his arm and place enough distance between the two of them to kick Kronos in the ribs.

Doubled over, Kronos shifted sideways and climbed deftly onto the stage, pressing a finger to his ear and yelling, " _To me! Now!_ "

Annabeth had almost reached them when she was halted by a poorly-aimed series of shots that jetted by in front of her. She staggered to a halt and whipped around, already returning fire. She managed to shoot one approaching agent in the torso, knocking her down, before the other two were on her. Dodging wild gunfire and throwing her now-empty weapon away, she darted sideways and kicked a nearby chair across the floor, tripping up one of her attackers. The other evaded it and made a grab for her, getting a momentary and weak latch on her dress before she pulled out of his reach. She swung a kick, which he ducked, and twisted sideways to dodge his return hook. She stepped behind him and pulled the second gun from his shoulder holster and whipped it against the back of his head, shooting him in the back for good measure as he dropped. Then she spun and placed a bullet in the other man's neck before he'd so much as touched her.

She saw movement to her right and threw herself sideways just in time to dodge the steak knife hurtling toward her through the air. It was likely a diversionary tactic, though, because half a second later the agent who'd thrown it shoved the nearest table forward and its opposite edge rammed against Annabeth's stomach, winding her. She saw the agent raise a gun, but before he could fire he was plowed by an SMG barrage from his right, courtesy of Piper. Annabeth exchanged a nod with her friend before returning her attention to the front of the hall.

Percy, Kronos, and a handful of agents had taken the stage. Cursing, Annabeth ran for them without spending any more attention on the battle on the floor. She leapt onto the stage, shooting down two attackers on the way. Magazine empty, she pitched the useless gun and ambushed the nearest man, leaping onto his back and wrapping her arms around his neck. Surprised, he dropped to his knees, allowing Annabeth to step back and knee him hard in the head.

When he fell, she took a second to search for Kronos and Percy. They were still fighting each other, both seeming to have taken quite a few hits. As she watched, though, someone grabbed the neck of Percy's jacket from behind and tugged, yanking it down his shoulders and pulling his arms back. With a look of alarm he stumbled backward, barely managing to duck as Kronos took a savage swing at him. He pulled his arms out of his jacket, leaving it behind, and turned to kick its thief in the chest, sending the man stumbling off the edge of the stage.

Annabeth bit her lip in frustration—there went his last line of defense. _Guess we'll just have to end this before they do,_ she thought to herself.

But even as she thought it, stray gunfire continued to streak toward them from across the room. Kronos's order had been to see them dead, after all, and his agents were more than willing to ensure that it was carried out. Annabeth was having trouble getting close to the others, but she was close enough to notice when a bullet from below pierced her fiancé in the side. He yelled and doubled over, allowing Kronos to laugh and land a wicked blow to his jaw, throwing him backward.

Annabeth's senses cleared as anger washed over her. She forgot all about the danger of stray gunfire and bolted across the stage, running toward Kronos. A shot grazed her shoulder as she sprinted, but she hardly noticed. Kronos turned to meet her, but a streak of alarm crossed his face—possibly at the fury in her expression.

She threw a right hook at his head and he lifted an arm to block, actually staggering a bit to the side from the force of the blow. She whipped her other fist at his gut and kneed him between the legs, landing a left hook to his jaw when he bent forward. He stumbled, barely dodging her next strike (possibly by sheer luck). He returned a swift blow to her stomach, but she didn't feel the pain. She was far too fueled by adrenaline. He seemed to realize that and instead went for a more direct approach; he checked his shoulder to her gut and hurled her to the wooden floor. Her back hit hard, but again she took little notice. She slid quickly backward before he secured a hold on her and swung her leg out, wrapping it behind his head and twisting her body sideways until she'd forced him onto his side. Then she kicked him in the shoulder and slid farther away, eyes critically scouring the area for a gun she could use to finish the job.

As she did so, however, Kronos stumbled to his feet and turned, starting to make a break for it. _No you don't!_ Annabeth thought with a growl. Abandoning her search, she jetted after him, causing him to change direction and duck backstage. He almost tripped over some stage equipment in the dark, latching onto it momentarily, before darting around it and climbing hastily onto a set of metal framework stairs. He shot a glance over his shoulder as he did so, but Annabeth was still hot on his heels. She wasn't letting him get away, not this time.

She chased him up the stairs and onto a network of lighting catwalks that led above the stage. She caught up to him after barely a few steps and grabbed a fistful of his black jacket from behind, tugging him backward. He staggered, but recovered quickly, and pivoted to swing a powerful hook at her head. She ducked it and shoved him with both arms, sending him stumbling against a railing.

Then he did something that actually made Annabeth stop—he pulled out a gun.

She froze in the face of the barrel. She'd been sure he hadn't had a weapon on him—there was no evidence of one on his person as they'd fought, and even had it been expertly concealed, why wouldn't he have used it sooner?

Then it came to her—the set equipment he'd run into backstage. He must have stashed it ahead of time and retrieved it in his moment of need.

"I still can't understand it, Chase," he said between labored breaths, wiping blood from his mouth. His ice-blue eyes were cold and hard. "You were the best. The promise you showed… So why? Why fight this battle, when you know now that you can't win?"

Annabeth stood still, her muscles taut and her heart pounding. She thought back on all that had happened since she'd left the CIA—on everyone she'd met, everyone she'd come to love… and everyone she'd lost.

"Sometimes…" she decided, voice tight, "people don't fight to win. They fight to… survive, to protect the things they care about." She let her own gaze harden to match Kronos's. "That's why I fight this battle. That's why I fight you."

Kronos gave a furious growl and stepped forward. He pulled the trigger on his gun, but Annabeth had already dodged to the side. She reached out and grabbed his wrist, pointing it downward and trying to twist so he'd lose his grip. But his hold was rigid. With his other arm he shoved her back and spun around, driving an elbow toward her face. She leaned back in evasion, but in doing so stepped sideways into open air—the edge of the catwalk frame was closer than she'd realized.

Annabeth's heart skipped a beat as she fell, gravity seeming to increase on her like hands grabbing at her dress. She managed to snatch the edge with both hands before her balance completely left her, but as she glanced up and saw a pair of shiny black shoes beside her fingers, her tiny breath of relief ran dry.

"Your fight is over," Kronos said coldly, eyes twinkling with satisfaction as he pointed his gun down at her.

 _Almost_ , Annabeth said mentally, bracing her weight on her right arm. _But not just yet._

As Kronos's finger hugged the trigger of his gun, Annabeth heaved herself up with her right arm and used her free hand to grab her former boss's ankle and pull. His surprise was great enough to eradicate his balance and he tumbled forward, free arm pinwheeling and eyes shooting wide. Unfortunately for Annabeth, the shift in his weight caused her own grip to fail and she lost her hold on the metal frame altogether. Also unfortunately for her, in Kronos's alarm he squeezed his grip on his gun and fired.

He'd been aiming for her forehead before, but the wild shot didn't miss completely. The bullet pounded the right side of her chest just below the shoulder and pierced through, and finally she was able to feel pain again. A _lot_ of pain.

"ANNABETH!" a harsh voice called from below as her breath caught in midair. A familiar voice—Percy. So he was alright. That was good.

Time slowed down as the two former allies fell to the stage, but before she hit something snatched Annabeth out of midair and angled her fall into a slide at the last minute. She and her new captive dragged across the floor, breaking the fall somewhat—not that Annabeth particularly noticed the difference, given the blinding pain spreading across her torso.

Percy appeared leaning over her, seemingly from nowhere. There was distress on his face. She could see blood on his shirt where a bullet had grazed his side a little while ago.

"Annabeth—hang on, okay, I'm gonna get you out of here."

He raised his head, eyes darting quickly back and forth. Annabeth opened her mouth to respond that that'd be an excellent idea, but only a weak cough came out of it. What was wrong with her voice? And why did this seem so familiar? Like some kind of poorly-timed déjà vu?

"Jason!" Percy yelled, looking at something to Annabeth's right. "I need your—NO!" He jerked forward mid-sentence, before grunting in frustration and returning his attention to Annabeth. He offered no explanation; not that Annabeth could have asked, but she did wonder. Biting back a pained groan, she met his eyes as he went on in a forcibly firm voice, "Okay, we're fine, this is nothing. Just, uh… hang tight while I—"

Suddenly blood exploded from his left shoulder. He screamed through gritted teeth and hunched over, a hand grabbing the wound as another blotch of ugly red dyed his white shirt.

He twisted around and Annabeth peered past him, tunneled vision focusing first on the gun barrel pointed in their direction, then on the person holding it. Kronos looked quite decidedly worse for wear, but the glare on his face was as fierce as ever.

Though it took far too much energy, Annabeth managed to shift an arm enough to touch her fiancé on the leg. "Go," she told him. He looked back at her, his grimace subsiding, and she added hoarsely, "End this."

Percy didn't argue. Without so much as a nod of understanding, he got to his feet and sprinted toward Kronos. The CIA Director tried to get in another shot, but there wasn't enough distance between them and his hand appeared slick with blood. Percy kicked Kronos's arm and the gun went soaring, sliding across the stage toward Annabeth and out of everyone's reach.

Kronos retaliated by swiftly grabbing Percy's other leg and yanking it out from under him, knocking him to the stage floor. He lunged sideways but Percy rolled away, before leaning up and tackling Kronos from the side. He got above him and landed a punch to the man's face, then another, and another, before Kronos managed to swing an arm up and smack Percy's freshly-injured shoulder, winning himself a reprieve to shove Annabeth's fiancé off of him. They rolled over one another until Kronos wrestled himself free and thrust his hands around Percy's throat.

And then it hit Annabeth, why this all was so familiar— _her dream_. That horrible, vivid nightmare she'd had on the way to Las Vegas, in which Kronos had killed her fiancé and she, grievously wounded, had been helpless to stop it. Now it was happening again, right in front of her eyes.

Annabeth's vision blackened at the edges as she watched Percy struggle. The pain in her chest was turning to numbness—undoubtedly a very bad sign. But despite the hopelessness of the situation, some part of her still refused to give into the fact that this was the end for them. After all they'd been through, Kronos couldn't win now.

Her eyes lifted a few inches and landed on Kronos's gun, which rested forgotten a few feet to her left. She stretched out a hand, dull twinges of pain slithering across her torso as her muscles were pulled taut. But she couldn't quite reach. So she held her breath and used her other arm to push herself closer, sliding in a pool of liquid beneath her which she suspected was her own blood. Rather a morbid thought, actually.

Finally her fingers closed around the handle of the gun. Rather than fire it herself (in her weakened state, she knew her aim would be imprecise; she could just as easily put a bullet in her fiancé's brain), she tapped the barrel on the stage—just enough to get Percy's attention—before using what little strength of movement she had left to push the weapon across the stage toward him.

It worked. The gun slid within his reach and he snatched it up at once. He tried to shoot Kronos in the neck but the man dodged, seeing the attack coming. Fortunately, Percy seemed to expect this, as he immediately swung the gun against Kronos's head. And just like that, he was finally able to fight himself free.

Annabeth breathed out in relief—and regretted it at once when her lungs screamed in protest. She let her limbs relax and watched through dimming vision as Percy and Kronos both climbed to their feet, the latter gripping his head with a tight expression. His balance was unsteady—possibly he'd injured a leg falling from the catwalks. But he grew still when he turned to face Percy, who had taken a few slow steps backward and was holding the gun out, keeping the barrel trained steadily on Kronos's face.

And in that moment, the three of them seemed to come to the same realization: the war was over. There was nothing to stop Percy from finishing Kronos off. The Director's fight was finished.

"You could have worked for me," Kronos told Percy, his voice no longer sharp and venomous. Now it was weak, tired… hopeless. He spoke as though lamenting a long-lost dream. It was almost… sad. "You and I… We could have buried Olympus. Together."

"Olympus is my family," Percy responded. There was no anger or hatred left in his voice either, and his posture was perfectly still as he watched Kronos's expression passively. "I may be a killer… But I'm not a monster."

Kronos dropped heavily to his knees—a final gesture of surrender. "Haven't you learned by now?" he asked, his voice growing softer so that Annabeth could barely make out his words. The corner of his mouth inched upward—a smirk or a sad smile, she didn't know—as he finished, "There's no such thing as monsters."

For some reason, this broke the careful indifference on Percy's face. His eyes widened a fraction of an inch and he gritted his teeth as though in pain, before his hand clenched and he pulled the trigger.

The bullet pierced Kronos's forehead just above his left eye, and he fell to the stage—never to move again.

It was entirely surreal to Annabeth—and not just because the haze of pain and exhaustion blanketing her senses made it seem like she was watching through a monochromatic kaleidoscope. Kronos had signified everything she'd been fighting against since she joined Olympus—the regrets of her past, and the threat to her future. But with his end came the end of an era. It was like a rebirth—an award of true and complete freedom.

And even though she was probably dying, she started to believe that she was finally, truly free.

"You," Percy said calmly to someone Annabeth couldn't see. Her eyes, for some reason, could only focus on him. "Tell your squad it's over. And get out of here… while you still can."

A rustle of movement sounded at the vague edge of her senses and a muffled voice said urgently, "Attention all units—Director Kronos is dead. Abort mission. I repeat…"

And then it faded. All sound faded. Time stopped, and the last thing Annabeth saw before the world turned black was her fiancé—the man she'd risked and given everything for—turning toward her.

As her vision darkened, she imagined him smiling. And she managed a smile as well.

It felt good to be free.

* * *

 **Ta-da! Oh, there are unanswered questions? Stay tuned for the epilogue... ;)**

 **-oMM**


	20. Epilogue

**Well, this is it, gang! Enjoy!**

* * *

Put on your **war** _paint_

* * *

" _There's no such thing as monsters."_

Two weeks had passed since the showdown at the Baltic Theater, and still those six words remained with Percy. At first, they'd irked him—made him feel guilty about what he'd done to Kronos and the rest of the CIA. But the more he replayed the mantra in his head, the more it settled in somewhat… comfortably. Like it was nothing more than a school lesson—something one would learn in fifth period between algebra and biology. It was a simple truth—monsters didn't exist.

There was no true evil in the world, and no true good to go against it. There were only people—men and women who did what they wanted and fought for what they believed. Kronos had been right that night when he'd told Percy how alike they were. He just didn't see it at the time, and hadn't been ready to accept it.

But now he knew—they _had_ been alike, each doing everything they could to protect what they thought mattered above all else. For Percy, that was his family. And for Kronos, it was the law.

But another important realization Percy had come to over the past two weeks was that just because he and Kronos had been the same, it didn't mean that they couldn't be mortal enemies. It didn't mean he owed it to the former CIA Director to go easy or to let him go. If he did that, he'd be playing the hero—trying to paint himself the absolute good. And he'd given up on that illusion a long time ago.

So while he _had_ felt guilty at first, he was glad to say that that feeling had passed completely. He was satisfied with what he'd done, because of the reasons for which he'd done it. Any regret he'd had over the specifics of the end of their war had vanished.

Now, regret for the losses he'd suffered on the way—that was another story entirely.

These were the jumbled thoughts going through Percy's head as he knelt before the headstone in New Calvary Cemetery that afternoon, the springtime sun beating down on him. His fingers brushed against the cool granite, tracing the bottom line of the _E_ at the end of the newly-engraved name on its surface.

He was _tired_ of burying loved ones. And he swore to himself that this—with how deeply it cut him—would be the last time.

With a heavy sight, Percy rose to his feet, pulling his eyes from the engraving and staring aimlessly over the cemetery. A hand set down on his left shoulder—a bit too hard, actually, causing him to wince as pain flared in the still-healing gunshot wound carved there.

"Ah, sorry," Grover said hastily, retracting his hand at once. "I keep forgetting…"

Percy shot his best friend a dry smirk. "The sling doesn't remind you?"

Grover's eyes fell to the thick bandages suspending Percy's arm and he shrugged guiltily.

"I just…" he went on with a frown, "I know it goes without saying, but… I'm still here for you. After everything we've lost, I just think maybe… Well, it's nice to hear it sometimes."

Percy smiled—though he could tell it looked sadder than he'd meant it to. "You're right. Thanks."

"He's not the only one," the person on Percy's right added. "I know I haven't exactly been part of this for very long, but… We're family, sort of. You can always count on me, too."

Percy shook his head. "There's no 'sort of'—we _are_ family. You've more than proven that much. I'm not saying I want another war or anything, but… I know who to call on for help if the need ever does spring up."

Jason chuckled, sliding his hands into his pockets. He'd just gotten out of the hospital a day earlier as a result of the fight with Kronos, and still here he was, playing the part of a good friend so naturally. It was funny for Percy to compare their relationship now to the way they'd met—with shady threats and secret uprisings.

"Don't jinx us," he warned good-naturedly. Expression turning serious, he went on, "On the subject, though… I've been doing a little cautionary work while I was stuck in the hospital. The CIA is swearing in their new Director on Monday—and he's a close, personal friend of mine. We shouldn't have to worry about them for quite a while."

Despite the lingering ache in his heart, Percy grinned. "You get more useful by the day. Have I mentioned how glad I am you're in charge?"

"You mean how glad you are I work for you," Jason corrected him with a smirk.

Eyes going back to the headstone before him, Percy felt his grin falter. "Actually, I…" He breathed out and turned to look Jason in the eye. "I've decided to step down. I don't belong on top."

The smile vanished from Jason's face. "What?" he said in surprise. "Why?"

"You don't think this war was your fault, do you?" Grover asked suspiciously.

"No, no," Percy insisted. "I don't mean it that way. I mean… It's not that don't belong there, it's more that…" He reached a hand out absently and touched the top of the gravestone. "I belong here, instead."

A look of understanding crossed Grover's face. "You mean… you're taking your dad's place."

"Yeah. And…" Percy turned back to Jason. "I want you to take Zeke's."

Jason studied Percy's face for a second before his eyebrows shot up. "You're serious."

Percy shrugged his good shoulder. "It was supposed to be you all along. We just didn't know you existed."

Jason gave a short laugh of disbelief. Shaking his head, he muttered, "I don't know what to sa—"

"Just say you'll do it," Percy told him. "Really, right now, that's all I need to hear."

"Okay," Jason agreed. "I'll do it."

"Good." Percy grinned in satisfaction. "And hey—now that, you know… all the cats are out of their respective bags and everything, you can start using your real name. You're a Grace, after all. It's time people knew it."

"'Jason Grace'…" Olympus's new central head recited with an expression of contemplation. "That's gonna take some getting used to."

"Sounds right to me," Percy observed.

Jason smiled. He reached out a hand, which Percy took and shook, sealing the deal. "Thanks, man," he said sincerely. "For everything."

"Back at you."

"I'm gonna head back," Jason decided. "Got a few calls to make. Frank's still in L.A., been trying to set me up a meeting with Harley. Must be easier said than done, though, because he keeps telling me the time isn't right yet."

As Jason glanced upward in a helpless gesture, Percy smiled to himself. He remembered Frank expressing interest in Harley's new secretary the last time they were there, and he half-suspected Frank was simply stalling to give himself a bit more time on the west coast.

"Good luck," was all he told Jason.

As Jason left, Grover said, "I should probably go, too. Told June I'd be home by five for dinner. You want to come with?"

Percy took a slow breath. "Nah, I'm gonna stay. Tell her hey for me."

"Sure thing. And Perce…" Grover glanced at the headstone. "You gonna be okay?"

It took Percy a while to answer, but when he thought back on everything—on how he'd changed in the past two years alone—he knew that, whatever time it took, things would turn around. They always did.

"Yeah," he replied confidently. "I'll be fine."

Grover smiled. He reached out a hand and almost touched Percy's injured shoulder once again, only stopping himself at the last minute. With a sheepish chuckle, he settled for giving him a pat on the back instead. Then he left him alone.

And Percy knew he _would_ be fine. Because despite everything he'd lost, he still had family left. And he knew that as long as he breathed, he would fight for and protect that family. He'd promised as much time and again, after all.

That comforting thought was still settling in when he was interrupted once more a few minutes later by a new arrival approaching on his right. "Sorry I missed the funeral," a somber voice said.

Percy frowned. "What the hell are you doing out of the hospital?"

Beside him, Annabeth rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. I'm perfectly fine. Look at me."

He did as she asked and remained unconvinced. He saw bruises on her face and arms, and the top edge of the length of gauze he knew was wrapped tightly around her chest and shoulder. The gunshot wound she'd suffered at Kronos's hands had very nearly cost her life, and it was still obvious by looking at her.

He arched an eyebrow and she shook her head. "Okay, well, it's not as bad as it looks, alright? Let's go with that."

"Fine, fine. You're already here, so I guess there's no arguing it now."

"Right. So…" Her eyes drifted to the headstone in front of them. "How'd it go? Or… do you not want to talk about it?"

"Not yet," he decided, sliding an arm around her back and returning his gaze to the engraving as she leaned into him. "Ask me again in a few days."

She chuckled softly. "Alright, then. Subject change. Did you tell Jason?"

"Yeah. He took it well—really well. Seems it was the right decision for all of us."

"I talked to Reyna and Leo this morning," Annabeth informed him. "And you'll be happy to know they've both agreed to sign on, too—for good. They can't move back to Detroit—at least not yet—so they're gonna stay in New York for a while. They didn't outright say it, but I think Reyna convinced Leo to give Hank another chance."

Percy felt himself smile. He'd been more than a little surprised to learn that Leo was actually Hank Beckendorf's long-lost illegitimate son (seriously—how small was the world?). But that surprise had quickly turned to hope that that meant their new allies might possibly be there to stay. After the losses they'd all suffered, a few gains were more than welcome.

"Good," he said aloud. "We could all use a bigger family right about now."

Annabeth shifted against Percy's side, and he could hear the grin in her voice when she said, "I'm glad you think so."

" _I'm_ glad we get to stay here, too, to be honest. I missed New York during that time I was stuck in Chicago earlier this year. I love it here. Grew up here, after all."

Annabeth giggled. "And you turned out alright."

"Hey," Percy chided. "You agreed to marry me."

"No, I'm serious. It's… reassuring. Because of you, I know this will be a good place to…" She hesitated, drawing in a quick breath. "…To raise our child."

Something about the tightness in her voice gave him pause—like she was bracing herself for an impact. "You mean, like… our theoretical, future child?" he asked.

"No. I mean… our definite, confirmed future child."

"Wait." Percy swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "Are you trying to tell me…?"

Annabeth pulled back a step and nodded, placing her palm against her stomach. Though her meaning was now perfectly clear, she still lifted her gaze and said with a tiny smile, "I'm pregnant."

He stared at her. "What?"

She shrugged in admission. "I found out in the hospital. They were going to tell you, but I wouldn't let them. I wanted to do it myself. Apparently, it's been almost six weeks—since the day I got back from Vegas, remember?—so… it's kind of a sure thing by now. …We could all use a bigger family, right?"

It barely registered that she'd just expertly changed the meaning of his own observation. "No, but… _How?_ After…"

"The beating I took when we fought Kronos?" she guessed correctly. "I don't know. They said it was kind of a miracle I didn't miscarry." She glanced down, a small smile spreading her lips. "I guess the kid's tough. Just like its parents."

As the facts settled in, they brought a certain clarity. Percy couldn't ever remember being more surprised in his life, but was that necessarily a bad thing? He felt nothing negative aside from shock—no fear or guilt or worry. That was a good sign.

He swallowed again and let his eyes fall to his fiancée's abdomen. He didn't see a difference in her apparent weight, but she was wearing loose clothing. And she _had_ just come off a two-week hospital stay.

"So… We're really…?"

"Having a baby?" she finished his sentence once again. Her smile widened and she reached out to take his hand in hers. "Yes. We are."

Finally the last of the surprise vanished and Percy grinned wildly. Laughing, he threw his good arm around Annabeth and pulled her into a tight hug that definitely aggravated his remaining injuries and probably also aggravated hers. She didn't show it, though—only laughed along with him and returned the embrace.

The news made him feel better inside—like the first, tiny ray of daylight pushing through the clouds after a storm. Not enough to obliterate all the darkness, but enough to provide a promise that soon the sun would return. Soon the shadows that seemed so powerful and undefeatable would fade, passing away beneath the golden skies of the morning. It was a wonderful feeling—the hope and the reassurance that despite their tragic past, _they still had a future_. And that future was looking brighter by the second.

"You don't know how great it is to see you happy," Annabeth said with a wide smile a minute later. "I've really missed that."

Percy grinned. "I'm not the only one who's been all frowns and glares lately," he pointed out. "Maybe… this will fix us both."

"It'd better, because I'd rather not bring this poor kid into a broken, messed-up family."

"I didn't say we weren't messed up."

Annabeth punched his sling-free arm and he laughed.

They fell silent for a few long minutes, both staring at the gravestone before them and everything it signified. Before he could stop himself, Percy asked Annabeth soberly, "Do you regret any of it?"

She turned to him with a frown. "What?"

"Everything we've lost, and everything we've had to do. I mean, look at you—you used to be a government agent. And now here you are, starting a life that hinges on organized crime. I know you want this, and I'm not trying to talk you out of it or anything. I just want to know. I want you to be happy."

She lowered her gaze, eyebrows drawing together. "Of course I have regrets," she said. "If I could go back and do it all again… Maybe I'd change a few things here and there. But at the same time… I wouldn't want to risk changing it all. I've done bad things, but no matter how much I hate that, I love that those bad things somehow brought me to you. I love that, even though we had to fight so hard to get here, we get to start a family together."

Again she slid her hand into his and went on, "When you say I started out fighting crime and now I'm living it, it sounds bad. But I guess… I don't really think of it that way. It's like you've said to me before—it's all about family. Back then, clearing my name and getting revenge was all I cared about. My mother was dead to me—I thought I had no family left. But then, thanks to you… I realized that I was wrong. I _do_ have a family. And all I want now is to be with them and protect them."

She lifted her chin and turned her head, stormy gray eyes staring into his. Somehow he was struck by the resolve that burned so clearly in them. "You taught me," she said, "that family is worth anything. And I want to live that way from now on—just like you do. If protecting that family is dangerous or… or illegal, then so be it. Love is more important than law."

Feeling heartened by her answer, Percy grinned. "I've always thought so, too. But it sounds kind of hot when you say it."

She rolled her eyes, chuckling, and raised both hands to his chest to give him a playful, backward shove. Then she grabbed his shirt and pulled him back toward her, grabbing his mouth with hers for a brief yet meaningful kiss.

"We should head home," she said a minute later. "I… _may_ have exaggerated a little before about being perfectly fine. I kind of want to lie down for a while. And… I'd really like you to stay with me."

He smiled, taking her hand. "Always."

Before they departed, Percy took one last look at his father's grave. Parker had told him that he needed to be a brother to the organization, rather than the father he himself had tried to be. But maybe, Percy started right then to wonder, he could be both—father _and_ brother, family and friend.

Like Annabeth, he'd made a lot of mistakes in his life. He had more regrets than he could ever hope to count, more moments he wished so badly he could do over or forget. But since when did infallibility inspire pure and perfect trust? His mistakes made him human—and that made him belong. It made him someone the organization needed—someone they could see, could reach out and touch. Someone they could come to for help, someone they could confide in. Someone each and every member could trust. The Grace brothers were trustworthy enough, Percy knew, but they we also unapproachable. And somewhere inside, he knew— _that_ was where his father and uncle Zeke had failed, and that was where _he_ would succeed.

Plus, Annabeth's hand in his told Percy a very important thing on top of that—any time he needed it, he would have help. The organization had no shortage of people prepared to give everything for its sake. And that—more than influence, more than money, more than the abilities of any of its leaders or specialists—was what made it strong.

Kronos had said that nothing was immortal. But he was wrong. So long as it had one member willing to fight, Olympus would live on forever. And the foundations for that immortality were already being laid by the very people Percy had come to know and love. And it made him endlessly proud and happy to be a part of it.

Olympus was a family. And if there was one thing Percy and Annabeth had learned since that fateful day when she'd chosen his table in the Blue Lantern café, it was that family—more surely than anything else on earth—would never die.

* * *

 **Is... is this real?**

 **Is it really over?**

 **Dang, I feel like I've been working on this series forever. I can't tell you guys how awesome it feels to be done with it, and to be happy with the ending and with the trilogy as a whole.**

 **So as always, mega-sized "Thanks you!"s to every one of you, whether you've been with me since the beginning or joined in along the way. This series has been a blast to imagine and to write, and it wouldn't have been nearly as much so without all of your support and excitement along the way. Starting now I'm going to take an indefinite break from fanfiction writing to work on an original idea I've been developing, but because of all of you my stint on ff-net is something I'll always look back on with extreme fondness. You're all responsible for the fun I've had, not to mention everything I've learned here, and the many ways in which my writing has improved over the years. So thanks bunches for that!**

 **Lastly, how about dropping me one final review? I'd love to know there are still people who enjoyed this, even after my long and unsuspected break.**

 **Have a great life, everybody! And, for what might be the last time, LATER DAYS!**

 **-oMM**


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